Scrapbook
by Count Le MadPhantom
Summary: Various oneshots based around my fics. Cotains my OC's so, it would be best to read my fics before reading this, so you'll understand what's going on.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Teen Titans never has been, and never will be, mine._

**_For Better Or For Worse_**

(**This takes place roughly two years after the Forthcoming conclusion of The Demon, The Witch, And The Ghost)**

Sub-Zero couldn't believe he was doing this. Well, mostly, he couldn't believe he hadn't done it before. He'd been thinking about it for a long time now—a bit over a year, in fact. Due to mixed laziness and nervousness, he'd put it off, thinking it would be better to wait… but stack up enough yesterdays and tomorrows, and you're going to have nothing but wasted time. So, he had finally decided it could wait no longer.

… And so it was that the young man, flushed with a pinkish tint and murmuring to himself as he walked, paced the aisles at a small store downtown between several rows of flashy jewelry.

Jewels and gems of every color, shape, and size one could imagine were present in the small, dimmed shop… the glass cases, mounted inside with little fluorescent lights, contained all manner of ornate brooches, sparkling rings, twinkling necklaces of pearl, stone, and gem, and numerous assortments of colorful earrings of varying size. All this among a number of other, more miscellaneous jewelry-items such as tongue-rings, belly rings, and even the occasional bejeweled watch or bracelet, decorated the shop's glass cases, sitting upon purple velvet stands.

Sub-Zero groaned. It was all trinkets and baubles to him; he had no idea what was the most valuable or what was the prettiest—indeed, it all seemed beautiful to him personally, and he couldn't really decide over one or the other. However, there was someone else with more discerning eyes than he to consider…

… Pushing that thought from his mind, he sat in a small gray chair and stared at the '_Rings_' section of the shop—which was, in and of itself, dizzying with variety and color.

Absent-mindedly, Zero rummaged about in his multi-pocketed gray belt for a moment before finally fishing out a small, heavily crumpled, piece of parchment paper. Taking it carefully in his hands, he unrolled and unraveled it, opening it up all the way so as to read what was written upon it. There, on the inside, was a list of several things jotted down hastily with messy black ink in a scrawled, untidy hand; it was unmistakenably Sub-Zero's writing.

It simply read as follows here:

_'Gem? Diamond, Ruby, Emerald, Sapphire, Amethyst?_

_Other… pearls, glass, onyx; band gold or silver? Size?'_

Next to all this was scribbled down a sloppy assortment of facts and figures, numbers and labels… sizes, colors, etc. Apparently, he had put a lot of time into researching certain things concerning high-priced jewelry before now.

Pocketing the document again, he stood up and strode over to the cases and racks of rings… and after a bit of eagle-eyed searching, spotted the specific sizing he was looking for.

… His eye was immediately caught by the sheer shininess of a golden ring, polished and glimmering, with a relatively large—perhaps huge—diamond perched atop, in such a way that it was nearly blinding to look at.

He grumbled and shook his head before continuing his search—not because of its weighty price tag, but simply because it looked more like something that belonged on a suit of armor rather than on a finger.

He found several plain silver rings with emerald stones, cut into sharp triangles and well cared for, stacked neatly in a row. They were attractive, as was everything else, but… they just seemed a bit too… bare. Too plain, even with the bright green stone.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

Sub-Zero jumped, his already weakened nerves given a sudden jolt by the wheezing, slightly squeaky voice behind him. After getting a quick grip on himself once more, he turned to face the speaker.

It was a small old man, elderly and wrinkled, with a good-natured smile and cottony white hair. He propped himself on a small wooden cane, with a diamond topper, for support and adjusted his spectacles to get a good look at Zero. He was probably, judging from his suit, the owner of the place.

"Oh! Uh… S-sorry 'bout that, _Monsieur_." Zero answered apologetically with a slight bow—though at the lowest point of the bow, he was still taller than the gnarled old man. "I was just… Looking around a bit."

"So I noticed." The old fellow laughed with a nod. "Say… Haven't I seen you around here before somewhere?" He fixed Zero with a curious gaze, wrinkled and squinty eyes widening a bit.

"Yes sir." Zero answered respectfully. "I've bought a ring from here before. A long time ago; couple years…"

The elderly shopkeeper gazed thoughtfully for a moment before suddenly snapping his crooked fingers with recognition.

"Oho! I remember you now! Silver ring. Pink-diamond gemstone, custom-carved into a heart shape. Women's band."

Zero stared incredulously. "Y-Yeah. That's right, Sir."

"Don't be so surprised my boy." The man nodded, hobbling over to the chair Zero had used formerly and taking a shaky seat. "My old brain ain't what it used to be… but I still remember most every ring I ever made."

Sub-Zero gazed doubtfully from the withered old owner to the exquisite jewelry around the shop. "You… make these yourself?"

As if to answer, he took the tip of his cane and reached over, pushing open a nearby door into the back of the shop… there was, inside, a large store-room of sorts, along the back of which was a table with various cutting and shaping tools, along with repair equipment, a cash register, and some books. Several shelves along the wall held boxes with names of various gems, stones, glasses, and precious metals, labeled along the front.

"If I don't make 'em myself…" The old man said to the impressed Zero. "How do I know they're any good?"

"I see…" Zero said absent-mindedly. He really couldn't think of what else could be said.

"Is the other ring broken? I can fix it." The old man offered quickly.

"Oh no, no… it's fine. It's just; I'm getting another… for a different reason. Though it needs to be the same size as the first." Zero explained.

"Hmm… All right. Anything in mind?"

"… I… I don't really know…" Zero sighed. "I'm thinking on it."

"Well, if you need any help, I'll be in back." The old shopkeep said genially. "Just knock."

"Right… Thanks, _Monsieur_." Zero said with another bow as the man went into the back room, leaving him alone to look around again.

Taking a quick glance at the nearby clock as it chimed noon, Sub-Zero groaned and began rummaging around the rings once more, looking at each single one, examing it minutely and going over every inch with his blood-tinted red eyes.

… An hour later, and he was back where he started. … They all seemed so… done. Generic. Cliché? Point being… almost all of them, he could point out something very similar he'd seen before either in real life or on television. He needed something more… unique…

… That's when it hit him. He rushed over to the door and rapped upon it with his gloved knuckles, being careful not to use too much force, lest he knock it off his hinges in his excitement. Scarcely had the owner opened the door opened when Sub-Zero said eagerly. "Do you make custom rings?"

The owner nodded. "Tell me what to use... I'll have it ready in a few hours. Why?"

... Sub-Zero smiled.

* * *

Zero briskly whistled to himself, walking along the docks where various ships and boats were being sold and auctioned off on this clear Jump City day… and clutching a small jewelry-box under one arm. Step one, complete… step two… working on it… 

He knew he didn't have much time. It was late, and soon the sun would be going down… but he'd already spoken with Robin. He was permitted to stay out as late as needed, and spend as much as needed… no. As much as POSSIBLE, is how Robin had put it, considering the situation.

The docks were bustling with activity, people walking about and admiring the various vessels with agents and price tags attending to them.

Most of them were identical, except in different sizes: Whitewashed wooden decks, with sloping white cabins and masts, with billowing white sails. They were all so modern; so newfangled for Zero's tastes. Fortunately for him, his tastes weren't important at the moment.

"… Excuse me, Sir…" He walked up to a young man in a tux, who was scribbling down figures on a pad.

"Hm…? Yeah, Bud. You looking for a boat?"

"Well… sort've, yes. See… I'm in the market for… something…" He paused unsurely. "Erm… residential? Something one could live in?"

"Houseboats? Yachts? What, exactly?" The young man yawned, putting away his notepad and adjusting his glasses. "Or should I just show you the lot?"

"Yes… yes, I'd like to see them all if you have the time. I'm looking to make a purchase, and I'm looking for something special."

**_An Hour And A Half Later…_**

"You can't be serious… you want to **BUY** this?" The young sales agent's cigar tumbled from his mouth, splashing into the water unnoticed…

… The water splashed upwards in a ripple against the hull of a yacht. And not just any yacht—THE yacht. One hundred feet, roughly, in length… Air-conditioning… satellite TV and video gaming accommodations… luxury suite quarters… Bath and shower rooms with hot and cold water… Sails and engines… GPS…

… The mother of all boats, and enough to make even Zero's mouth water.

"Yes… Yes Sir, this one." Zero said, managing to shake himself out of his daze.

The ship that had kept him so entranced was black… a jet black hull and matching black masts with a silvery-tiled deck and a red racing stripe along the middle. The sails, through process of dye, were deep red as opposed to white…

"… It's perfect."

* * *

**_A bit later, back at the Tower…_**

Sub-Zero sighed and paced back and forth in his room… it was ready. The deed to the boat was in his hand, Robin had finally recovered from shock (with a bit of a smile on his face and simply shrugging forgivingly), and… the ring was wrapped in a small cloth and in his pocket.

… But all that was the easiest part. Night had fallen, and he couldn't decide whether to do this in private… in the middle of dinner… or perhaps, on the roof, under the moonlight…

He had a slight idea as to HOW to do it… he just didn't know where or when. But… he figured, before dinner would be the best time. After dinner, Jinx usually went off to her room to draw or write, and didn't like to be disturbed. … He couldn't imagine where, though.

… Finally, he took a deep breath in, and pocketed both the deed and the ring box in the same pocket.

… He walked out the door into the hallway. No time like the present, he reasoned to himself.

In a matter of what seemed like mere seconds, the Hallway (which had so many other times seemed to be an endless tunnel) flew by… and he was standing in front of the large door marked "_JINX_".

Shakily, he sucked in a breath and… tapped the door gently.

It didn't take long before he heard the small bolts and locks unfastening on the other side of the door, and it slid open shortly afterwards, revealing Jinx, dressed as normal in her black dress and stockings and boots… except that her hair was down at the moment, in a long pink sheet on her back instead of up in horn-like pigtails.

"Zero! It's you." She purred, all but 'squee-ing' in her delight. "What do you need, Darling? I thought you were out shopping today?"

He managed a shaky smile back and tugged at his collar. "Well, I was! I'm done, that is… so… I came back."

She nodded, yawning and stretching. "All right. Where all did you go?"

"Well, eh… I'll tell you in a bit!" He said hastily, but in a bright, eager tone. "Jinx… can I… that is, may I… speak to you in private a bit?"

She cocked her head curiously, staring… but after a moment, she smiled and shrugged, tickling the underside of his pale chin. "Well… I don't see why not."

Zero offered her his arm, and she took it gently. They began walking down the corridor…

Jinx, as accustomed to Zero as she had grown the last four years or so… could tell immediately—within seconds—something was up.

"Zero… are you alright…?" She asked slowly. He looked all right, but… there was a shakiness to his manner, a certain clumsiness that wasn't there usually.

"I'm… a little nervous…" He admitted.

She blinked. "Nervous… about what?"

"Well… there's something I've been meaning to do… a long time… and I've finally decided to do it, tonight…" He said, remaining deliberately vague as his red eyes glimmered.

"Oh? And what would that be?" Jinx asked somewhat playfully.

"Just wait… you'll see…"

A long pause as they walked, and Zero took the opportunity to bend down and nuzzle her neck affectionately, prompting a giggle and a blush from her.

"… Jinx…" He broke the silence after a moment. His expression suddenly became grave. "… Could I… I mean… would you ever… be angry with me… for doing something?" He asked slowly, stopping in place.

She stared. "… I don't understand. Have you done something?"

"I mean…" He tried to think what to say… "If there's something… I feel I must say… that I don't mean to hurt you by saying… would you be angry?" He couldn't seem to arrange his words properly, and thus, only managed to confuse her.

"… I… I don't know. … What… are you going to say…?"

He sighed… but then smiled. "Here… come with me…" He said, avoiding the question for a moment and taking her farther along the hall.

Soon enough, they came to a flight of stairs… and Zero suddenly sat down, looking rather forlorn. His eyes were deep, preoccupied with thought, and not altogether courageous.

"… Zero… something… is… wrong." Jinx said slowly and deliberately, sitting down next to him… "… Tell me what… Please…"

"… There's something… I have to ask you…" He said suddenly.

She gently took one of his gloved hands in her slender, pale palms. "… I'm listening."

… Sub-Zero opened his mouth once… but nothing came out. It seemed his mind had suddenly gone blank and he couldn't remember the right words.

Frustrated with himself, he opened it again, and FORCED something out, but… in his scatterbrained nervousness… the unfortunate guy, being multi-lingual, said exactly what he meant to say, but… in French… and Spanish… among other things…

"Jinx… _veux-tu m'épouser_? Uh... **NO**! I mean… ¿_Te quieres casar conmigo_? … _MERDE_!" He shouted in frustration, too flustered by this point to talk rationally. His face was pink with flush… finally, he was on the verge of giving up—Jinx staring at him alarmed as if fearing for his sanity—when he gave it one last attempt, trying to calm himself enough to speak English. But… to no avail.

"_Tum Mujhse Shaadi Karogi_?" He blurted out desperately in Hindi…

Badly out of it with sheer anxiousness, he groaned and turned away from her, realizing he'd screwed it all up. He tried to mumble an apology, but his voice, naturally low and airy in the first place, was all but gone at the moment. Finally, he put his head in his hands and fell silent with shame.

Jinx was rooted to the spot like a statue. Her confused, incredulous look had vanished… instead; she was clutching at her chest and wondering if she had heard the last sentence correctly. … Her slender stockinged legs began to quiver somewhat, suddenly feeling very much like jelly, and she stumbled over to him, falling eventually on her knees in front of him.

"……" She seemed to be far too overwhelmed for words. Her feline eyes, luminous both with their natural sheen and with the glossiness of tears, seemed wider than ever before.

… As it dawned on Sub-Zero that she had understood the last bit of his jumbled proposal, he turned slowly to cast a hopeful gaze on her, not sure how it was she had understood a sentence of Hindi, but not really concerned by that at this point.

… Their eyes locked into each other, luminous pink slits and foggy red pools; their eyes were connected by something that, though unseen, was powerful enough to keep them staring at one another, without so much as a blink.

Jinx's voice, quivering and weak but there, broke the silence. "… Zero… I… I don't know what……" She swallowed and shivered. "…… Oh my God…"

He suddenly felt a breath rise up in him and he realized his voice was back. He cleared his throat and spoke, getting down onto one knee.

"Jinx… I know I don't deserve it, especially after a screw-up like that. But…" A pause. "… It would give me no greater pleasure, nor honor, nor purpose for living… than to be with you for the rest of my life."

As he spoke, Jinx's eyes—running over by this time with tears, streaming down her thin face and onto her dress—followed his hand as it went to his pocket. He took out… a small jewelry case. In that moment, her heart began thudding frantically against her chest, pounding and thumping so loudly that she began to think she might wake someone up.

"Jinx… the light of my life… _Mon Amour_…" He opened the case and she couldn't suppress a weak moan at the sight. "…… Will you marry me?"

There in the box was a small ring, just the size of her finger, with a silver band etched with the name "_Jinx_" in curling, loopy, cursive lettering on the inside. The gemstone was black obsidian with a bright reddish tint to it, resulting in a beautifully dark gem… all around it; small diamonds twinkled in a sort of sparkling frame for the jewel itself. The obsidian gem was cut in such a way that it perfectly formed an angular diamond shape.

…. Jinx, almost mechanically, held out a trembling left hand.

Zero took it gently and slid the ring onto her ring finger; the piece of fine jewelry slid effortlessly on and seemed to have been made for her.

She stared at it on her hand, her face growing more and more red as tears flowed more freely, her eyes wide. Suddenly, she clutched her hands to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut with a soft gasp—and before Zero could react, she leaned over and kissed him fully on the lips.

… They stayed like that for a moment, Jinx's slender arms wrapping about his neck and her pale fingers running themselves through his fluffy white hair; Zero reached around her in an embrance and ran his hands along her back, producing a sort've electric thrill that ran up her spine.

Finally, she pulled away with something between a gasp and a sob, her face crimson and tear-stained, and yet still with a smile. "Oh God… Zero…. I, I will! I _will_ marry you!"

… After that, silence seemed to prevail; both of them were too overcome, too overwrought with emotion for words. And after who-knows-how-long of silent embracing and caressing, mental exhaustion took its toll on both, and they fell asleep together right in the middle of the hall.

* * *

Blackfire yawned to herself as she stepped out of her and Star's shared room, scratching her side and shaking out her long, somewhat ruffled hair as she adjusted her black Pajamas. Star wasn't awake yet—at this time of morning, the only other people liable to be awake were Robin and Cyborg, both of whom were probably busy—but she was hungry nonetheless. So she was on her own for breakfast this morning… 

… But she had barely started walking down towards the kitchen, it seemed, when her foot caught a large heap of something in the dimmed corridor and she went tumbling headfirst into the tiled floor with a soft yelp and a thud.

Only after she had gotten shakily to her feet did she realize she had tripped over two of her closest friends—both of whom were tangled together in the floor of the hallway with their heads resting at the base of a stairway; Zero had entwined Jinx in his arms, and she had wrapped her legs around his legs. There was a mutual facial expression of serene joy, that seemed to suggest a pair of sleeping angels.

Blackfire stared for a moment, unsure of it things and wide eyed. Then, deciding it was better not to know until they intended everyone to know, went to go get breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Nothing is Coincidence**_

_By Count Le-Madphantom_

… It was with great difficulty that Raven dragged herself out of bed that Saturday morning. The brass, antique alarm clock rang once. She mumbled indignantly, half turned over, and set the alarm for a bit more sleep … Then, a few minutes later: It rang a second time, its bells tolling shrill and insistent in her ear. This time, she grudgingly shut it off entirely and pulled herself to her feet.

Slipping on her fuzzy black slippers—genuine wool—and adjusting her gray, pinstripe pajamas, she shuffled over to her window and gently pulled the drawstings of the curtains. Slowly, almost reluctantly, they slid apart…

It was as though someone had punched her in the face.

Light shone in brilliantly, the golden orb of the sun directly above the shimmering, flashing silhouette of Jump City; one could almost imagine the birds chirping cheerfully, and the good people of the city going about their normal trials and tribulations, persevering through it all with a smile.

…. She yanked the curtains shut again, slightly disgusted.

Her eyes half-open, half-shut, she stumbled over to the door, pulled it open and stepped out, muttering irritably to herself about tea and toast. She began making her way down the hall towards the kitchen…

A wispy, golden-brown mist, some sort of scent, drifted down the Hall. It was somehow flaky and robust at the same time, smelling of baked goods and butter. A subtle, bittersweet edge… with a slightly nutty odor. The wisp caught Raven's left nostril.

She froze. Her eyes snapped open, wide-awake. Her mouth suddenly began to water as her belly growled impatiently.

Waffles!

Almost in a daze, she picked up the pace and walked—jogged?—to the kitchen, even going so far as to powerslide on the carpet as she made the turn into the room. Sure enough, there stood Cyborg—looking somewhat silly in a battered white apron reading, 'Kiss the Cook' and a tall, white Chef's hat—who was opening up an electric waffle iron and pouring in large ladlefuls of his famous Waffle Mix, the ingredients of which are a mystery even to me, The Author.

The only time Cy truly seemed like a machine, other than when working on some project, was when he cooked. Effortlessly, he seemed to glide around the kitchen, tossing an egg into a bowl here, turning an egg-beater there, tossing the odd piece of sausage or bacon into a skillet. It was nearly art to him, and he got wrapped up in it. Understandable then, that as Raven, quiet one she was, approached… he was not aware of it.

She began walking, as though hypnotized, towards the steaming waffle-iron. He turned just in time to bump into her—which, due to the clear and blatant size-advantage he had, basically amounted to running her over. There was a thump, and a brief clatter… then, an almost lumberjackesque "Timber!" moment, as Cy began to tilt, and suddenly fell head over heels to the ground with a metallic crash.

"Uhhh…. Ow…" He dragged himself up, shaking his head dazedly. He looked down and spotted Raven who, as though still asleep, was staring unfazed at the Waffle Iron… "Uh… Raven…? Rae? Hey…." He poked her forehead. "…. You all right?"

She started, as though waking up for the first time. I will remind the reader she is not nearly a morning-person—not by a longshot.

"… F-fine…" She grunted, getting up and sitting in a chair. "…. Hungry…." Her stomach growled again. "… Tired…" Her eyes began to droop again…

Immediately, Cy had a clean glass out and was pouring a torrent of hot, fresh green-tea from a kettle, and with the other hand, spooned sugar and cinnamon into it, stirring well. There was no need for her to ask for anything; he was used to her habits by now.

"Don't worry; this oughtta put the pep back in your step!" He said cheerfully, sliding it across the table to her. "Breakfast should be ready shortly—not sure if anybody else is up yet…"

"How long…?"

"Eh, shouldn't be too long. 'Bout half an hour or so."

She got up, sighing and stretching, her back popping audibly. He blinked in concern. "Girl…. You look like you just washed up outta a lake. You have a rough night or somethin'?"

She muttered something incoherent as an anime-vein of annoyance throbbed on her forehead area. She clearly had not gotten her required eight-to-twelve hours of beauty—er, gothy—sleep.

"Tell you what—why not get a nice, hot shower while you're waiting? That'll wake you up proper. And…" He pinched his nose in jest. "… might help with the smell, too…"

She shot him a glare, and stalked off towards the bathroom, still murmuring under her breath the entire way.

* * *

It never occurred to Raven, as she stepped into the bathroom, that it was already quite warm… as though it had been steaming. So when she opened the inner-door to the shower area itself, she yawned and, wiping her eyes slowly, began moving forward… 

…Until she heard the water running. She froze.

Opening her bleary eyes, she glanced at the countertop nearby and saw some oddly familiar garments, and a single monocle placed neatly at an angle. Almost mechanically, with little or no actual thought, her head swung to the side towards the shower itself, only to find the curtain standing partially open and—

… Her eyes bugged out, and a trickle of blood began to run from her nose. She stemmed it hastily with her finger and stared, frozen to the spot as though witnessing a train wreck.

Ghost stood in the shower, his hair slicked down his neck by the rush of water. He seemed completely unaware of her presence, holding a bar of soap with one hand while bracing himself against the side of the shower with another—he seemed so unconcerned, that he seemed to be whistling a vaguely recognizable tune from some Opera…

He took a step forward to adjust the water nozzle, and the curtain swung back to leave him briefly exposed. Raven's gaze lowered automatically, focusing on the area in question—and she… began to gradually, surely turn a shocking shade of fire-truck red.

Suddenly, Ghost looked upwards at an angle. His eyes: mismatched and squinting, met hers. Her heart stopped and she stared.

… He abruptly looked away with a shrug. And then, remembering his monocle on the countertop, she realized he could barely see, and couldn't even see well enough without the eyepiece in question to detect her presence.

… Her first thought was to run… but… surely even someone with pathetic eyesight would be able to see something move. Teleport? Useless. It would make too much sound, and thus, it would be obvious.

She stood there in a quandary, unable to make a decision—her only tactic was to shut her eyes as tightly as possible so as not to spy on him any further. But then, just as the situation seemed unable to get any worse… it did.

Ghost must have been finished with his morning shower, because he switched the water off without warning and reached out, fumbling near-blindly for a towel. He caught hold of a soft, baggy material and, taking it for a towel, gave it a good yank.

… The downside being, it wasn't a towel at all—it was the corner of Raven's pajamas.

_RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!_

The sound was muffled, barely audible and whisperlike, compared to the roaring of the water from the showerhead. But the sudden draft was enough to let her know what had happened.

She looked down. And without thinking about it, let out a sudden, shrill shriek before covering herself with her arms and dashing out back towards her room, ignoring the chilly air she'd been oh-so-oblivious to before. The scream was enough to echo and reverberate throughout the large, tiled bathroom, and mere seconds after she was out of sight, Ghost alarmedly stepped out of the shower, switching it off and looking rather bewildered with his freshly procured 'towel' wrapped around his waist for dignity-protection purposes, still blissfully unaware of what he was doing.

"What the blazes? Someone screamed…" He murmured, looking around and squinting. He made to reach for his clothes and monocle, but deciding that someone might be hurt and there was no time, he dashed out into the hallway and started running towards the common area, carefully keeping one hand along the wall to avoid tripping or falling, as he was, quite literally, running blind.

* * *

"Steady…. Steady…." 

"Just stick it on there, already; I ain't gonna stay like this much longer…. "

A massive 'castle' of cards was stacked carefully, and with pinpoint precision right in the middle of the living room, between the couch and the TV screen… they were placed with infinite care, but still carried an air of frailty; as though the slightest breeze would blow the entire structure down. Beast Boy was perched haphazardly on Smoke's shoulders, with a single playing card, an ace of spades to be precise, and was preparing to place it, together with a second playing card Smoke was holding, right on top of the tall tower to create a 'roof' of sorts.

"Keep going, Man! These couple o' cards, 'n we'll beat Cy's record!" Smoke barked, cheering B.B. on.

"Gimme a second, Dude… I have to get these on here just right…"

A shrill sound suddenly echoed from the nearby hallway.

They stopped what they were doing and turned in tandem, staring curiously down the corridor. Smoke squinted his sharp eyes: "… Is somebody comin'…?"

"I dunno… but it sure sounded like someone screaming…"

Scarcely had Beast Boy finished his sentence when a flash, rather like a gray blur, shot by shrieking like a banshee. They were blown violently by the sheer force of it and toppled over with a pair of angry shouts, thumping on the ground.

No sooner had all this happened, than whoever it had been was gone.

Beast Boy tapped Smoke's head alarmedly.

"What?" Smoke snapped back grouchily. Beast Boy pointed and they looked up just in time to see the card castle leaning like the famous Italian Tower, and before they even had time to react, it came crashing down with a hiss and a blizzard of white, black, and red as the playing cards scattered through the air and littered the entire room; two hours' work destroyed in mere seconds.

… As though to add insult to injury, Ghost—clad in nothing but a baggy gray, pinstripe pajama top wrapped rather ludicrously around his waist—came running by and, unable to see properly, tripped headlong over Smoke's gangly legs and fell headfirst downwards with a yelp, scattering cards again briefly. He groaned.

"Gah! Jesus Christ, Man, careful!" Smoke protested, kicking Ghost roughly off of he and Beast Boy. "Ain't you ever heard of lookin' where you're goin'?"

"S-sorry, sorry! It's just, someone screamed and I came running…"

"Yeah, we see that." Beast Boy said miserably. "Whoever it was, they knocked over ou—" He stopped. He spotted the pajamas, and, although he tried to suppress his laughter, it was still quite audible. "_Hehehehe_….!"

Smoke saw them too. "Boy, what the HELL are you wearing?"

Ghost blinked innocently. "Oh, this old thing? Just a towel I grabbed off the rack when I got out of the shower… Why?"

"Towel? …. Whoa… you really CAN'T see without your eye-thing. Those are Pajamas." Beast Boy said.

"… Pajamas…?"

At that very moment, Robin stumbled in, looking ashen-faced and wide-eyed; his masked visage a portrait of severe sudden shock. He looked on the point of fainting, and, sure enough, began to swoon shortly after coming in. A slight trickle of blood ran down from his left nostril.

"R-Ra…Ra…" He seemed on the cusp of making a statement, but couldn't quite finish it out. "R-R-Rae—Uurrgh…"

Beast Boy rushed forward and caught him, horrified. "Dude! What happened? Did you get beat up or something? Did you—"

"If you'd quit yer yappin', he'd TELL us what was wrong." Smoke interrupted annoyedly.

"R—Raven! Raven! She just… she…" He paused. Unable to finish the sentence, he motioned vaguely towards his chest in a rather suggestively-rounded manner, and passed out on the spot.

… There was a long awkward pause.

Ghost blinked. Smoke sniffed. Beast Boy stared at Robin. Robin laid there.

… Then, Ghost suddenly made the connection. He remembered the sudden, nearby scream… now, the pajama top he'd taken for a towel… and Raven…

"…… Oh Dear. This can't end well." He suddenly sighed, putting his head in his hands. "... Well... you fellows better revive Robin... I'm going to go salvage my dignity and make some apologies..." He walked off abruptly.

* * *

"I have never fully understood the visual sensitivity Earth males possess towards the female mammary glands. Is this normal among your species…?" Starfire asked, handing Robin a glass of water and eyeing him curiously. 

Robin sighed. "…It's Fine… Don't ask…"

Starfire continued on with her articulate prattling: "I also do not completely understand Raven's reaction. Was she cold, or did she simply feel inadequate? Certainly friend Ghost would have been more than mature enough to handle the sight of—"

Robin noticed his nose tingling again and decided to tune his dearest out for a moment.

"—at any rate, I hope she is not angry with him. He did nothing wrong…"

"It was her fault anyway." Robin said with a shrug. "She'll get over it. But…… until then, I think Ghost ought to lay low…."

Starfire cocked her head. "Lie low…? Why is he lying down; is he ill from the sight of Raven's bareness?"

"……" Robin sighed. "… Nevermind."

* * *

Ghost gulped audibly and knocked on Raven's door. "Uh… um… Raven…? Hello?" A pause. "…… Are you there?" 

… There was no answer. But, he continued anyway…

"I just… I came to apologize and, uh… r-return your……" He glanced at the freshly sewn-up top in his hand. "… Garment…"

Still, nothing.

He turned with a sigh and began to trudge back down the hallway, when… all of a sudden, the door slid slowly open with a creak. He turned and saw, with a shiver, that it looked pitch black inside. He started to approach hesitantly.

Once inside, he saw Raven near the rear of the room, dressed and facing away from him, sitting at her desk with a book open. She didn't so much as react to his presence and acted almost as though she didn't see him.

… And although she didn't say anything, the only reason she didn't turn to face him was simply because she was still quite red.

He took a few nervous steps forward, adjusting his belt—or at least, his scythe which was, as always, wrapped around his waist like a belt—and trying to appear as calm as possible.

"I… I just…" He stopped to swallow and collect his thoughts. "… Here." He finished lamely, placing the PJ-top onto the desk and then drawing his hand back shakily.

She took it in one hand and placed it in a drawer of the desk with a single fluid movement. … She said nothing further, and her hair hung down so as to conceal her face, so he couldn't quite make out whether she was angry, ashamed, relieved, or anything else.

Seeing this, he began to leave in a hurry, prepared to lock himself back in his cellar hidey-hole and let her cool off a while, but… then…

"Wait…"

He froze and flinched, suddenly sweating bullets.

"…. I'm… sorry."

He blinked. Did he hear that right…? He turned.

Raven was standing now, looking at him rather somberly—even for her standards—and still slightly pinkish in the cheeks; especially pronounced, given her pale skin color.

"I… should have knocked…" She stammered softly, voice hoarse and gravelly as usual. "I'm really sorry."

"Oh, it's quite all right." He said quickly. He suddenly thought about what he'd just said, and added quickly: "Not that I get a rush out of people watching me in the shower or anything but, erm, you get the idea."

"……" She seemed unable to think of anything else to say.

Suddenly, he spoke up and added: "You know, if it's any consolation at all, it's not like I could see anything anyway. Besides, even if I had…" He paused, trying to think how to phrase the next statement. "… I… I somehow think I could have handled it. After all, you seemed to have little problem ogling me."

She went stark red again and turned around. "…. Was not." She huffed, almost childishly.

She turned around and took a step forward—and before he could react, stepped up on her tip-toes and gave him a light peck on the cheek.

"… But if I had, I think I could have handled it." She said with a smile, almost mocking his prior statement. "After all, I might have even _missed_ something... some _small_ details are easy to overlook." She said, walking towards the door…

He stared for a moment. His brain then clicked abruptly. "Hey… wait a minute… what's that supposed to mean? Raven? Raven!" He followed her out of the room.

* * *

_**I'm not dead folks! And now that school is officially out for the Summer, I'll have plenty of time—I hope—to update my other fics and whatnot. Remember: Love Thy Neighbor, and reviews are love. So spread the wealth: Read and Review. Thanks!**_

**_--L'Count M.P._**


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTE: This is what you might call a drabble. No real plot or action, just a brief piece of philosophical introspection with some slight fluff added in. Written out of sheer boredom at about four in the morning recently; figured it was good enough to put on This takes place during the first fic, during Jinx's night at the ship before she regains consciousness. From Sub-Zero's POV.**

_**Shades of Gray**_

_Captain's Log_

_Normally, I am nothing if not meticulous about log entries. It is imperative to keep a record of all my activities in the event I never return home, and simply for posterity—and, truth be told, I simply enjoy writing. However, tonight, I am tired, and cannot even remember the date! The time, I can only guess, is probably somewhere around midnight or perhaps even one in the morn. Certain circumstances have kept me out later than I anticipated, and I will record them faithfully here._

_I have already mentioned the delightful locals that welcomed me so kindly into their home—strange, even by my standards, they are… but even so, they are good people, and have generously provided me with lodging and have even invited me to be one of them. I can only pray this is perhaps part of the quest I need to fulfill my knighthood at last. Anyway, back to the task at hand. _

_My new friends found themselves in a sticky jam, quite literally, and I managed to lend a helping hand; I fought off the rascals that had attacked them and we managed to escape. However, shortly afterwards, the entire building we had just been in burst into flames! I assume it was some sort of explosive… though I do not know who put it there or why. But that is not important. _

_What is important is I have only just made good with these kind people, and already I'm going behind their back and undermining their work… but I can't help it. Let me explain properly. Three people attacked them: A large brute, a small rogue, and… another. Only the first two were seen fleeing the burning building after the initial blast. It was obvious that the latter was still inside somewhere. There is no point in hiding it: it was a girl. And as such, chivalry—along with simple morality—dictates that no matter what hostility may have been present, I had to do something. I told my friends to go and pursue the other two, and I went in._

_… I cannot describe what is wrong with me. But I fear I have been put under some sort of enchantment._

_I'll try to sum up what happened quickly. After searching for what seemed like a long time—I am not fond of fire, so my fear might have made it seem longer than it was—I finally found her. She was mostly buried underneath a pile of smoldering rubble. I managed to dislodge it and found she had a heartbeat and was breathing, albeit rather weakly. My first thought was to get her into some open air, and out of the hot, smoky mess; therefore, I made it my priority to get her out and began running with her… I'm not sure where I was going; I wasn't really consciously considering it. I was just…. Going._

_Then, Robin… the leader of the group I had befriended—contacted me. I couldn't help it. I lied. I lied through my teeth and told him that she had gotten away. … I don't know why, but I pity her. Is it really so strange? She was, after all, left behind by her own pals, apparently to die. And I had a hunch they wished nothing more than to chain her in a cell with the other dangerous criminals._

_… My train of thought is very illogical, but again, I am not feeling myself tonight. As I sit here, I stare at her, lying sound asleep in my own bed. She is… (_At this point, there are several attempts at writing that have been scratched out by messy ink blots and quill slashes; finally, after multiple attempts, the writer continues)_ … Unique, to say the least._

_I suppose I should give some description of my guest. I have no specific measurements, obviously, but she appears taller than she is—she has strange, tall-heeled boots that add a good bit to her height, and this couples with her strikingly strange hair—cotton-candy pink with a hint of rosy red, and bundled up into two bull-horn-shaped pigtails—makes her appear much taller and more imposing than she is. Upon close glance, she is rather thin. I must remember to ask when she wakes up if she's had anything to eat recently…_

_… Already, you can see my strange condition. I am drawn to this strange girl for reasons I can't quite guess. _

_The moon is particularly strong out tonight. It shines off of her skin almost reflectively; her flesh has a nearly silvery quality about it, although it would be more accurate to say it was light-gray. This, I suppose, is unusual for this area, but not all that odd compared to my own snow-white skin tone. _

_… Her eyes fascinate me. I only saw them for a brief moment when I first got her out of that building… when I freed her from the debris, and they fluttered for a single moment before closing again. They were catlike, almost inhuman, but… somehow beautiful._

_I find her alluring. And that alarms me. It would be much better if I could simply drop my pity and send her back to jail where she most likely belongs, but… I can't. The fact remains that when I glance at her, I feel a flutter in my chest and a sudden lightheadedness overcomes me. When I touched her arms briefly to check for a pulse, I shivered visibly._

_… What is wrong with me?_

_At any rate, I am in an irking situation. On one hand, there is no sense in disturbing my guest's repose; she has been through plenty for one night. On the other hand, I have to sleep somewhere myself. I suppose I could sleep below deck in one of the crew-rooms, but… despite this girl being bizarrely alluring, I don't like the idea of leaving her unattended. … Or is it just that I can't take my eyes off of her?_

_Enough. Will finish in full tomorrow morning after this has all been resolved._

* * *

_… Can't sleep. Will continue writing until I can. _

_I am now certain that I never should have gone back for the girl, as terrible as that sounds. She has a terrifying hold over me! But I don't know how or why. Let me explain._

_Just a few minutes ago, when I attempted to get some rest, I found myself replaying the run back here over and over, almost unconsciously. When I opened my eyes to wipe them, my gaze was instantly drawn to her serene, unmoving form. I even left the cabin… and yet, as I paced the deck, I could have sworn once or twice I heard someone moving about in the cabin and, thinking she might have awoken, rushed back, only to find her still asleep._

_… I'm not even certain of the girl's name, though I thought I heard the Teen Titans, my friends, refer to her as Jinx…_

_I'm not sure of her name. And yet, I can't stop thinking about her. First, I believed this was enchantment. Only recently, about five minutes ago, I wondered if I was losing my mind—now, I'm beginning to wonder if it's something… more? Am I… attracted to her? Why? I haven't even introduced myself properly, and I've just given her and her pals a good thrashing. Why would she have any possible reason to like me?_

_… Though I suppose I did save her… that may count for something._

_\_

_I feel a multitude of sensations—I'm somehow alarmed and slightly giddy at the same time. My resistance to whatever is in my heart is weakening. _

_I'm looking at the girl now. …. Poor thing. She must be hungry._

_…_

_… I think I know what I should do now. End log. Will record outcome in full at a later date._


	4. Chapter 4

_**(Author's Introduction: This takes place roughly seven-to-ten years after the forthcoming conclusion of my story, The Demon, The Witch, And The Ghost. Please do not read unless you are up-to-speed with that one; you may not understand, otherwise. For those of you who ARE up-to-speed, prepare to see a special glimpse into the future.)**_

_**Thicker Than Water--Part One of Two**_

_From the Journal of Peter Morris, correspondent of unspecified English newspaper:_

Dec. 3

Ever since I've arrived at Gordenstadt, it's been bloody colder than I know how to deal with. Sure, I packed a few scarves, and even the odd corduroy coat, but I'm still freezing my ass off. The locals traipse around like it doesn't bother them; one old boy was just walking past the window of my hotel room leading a shaggy ox, him in nothing but a flannel button-up, and some wool trousers with suspenders. I can't imagine that cap of his kept out the wind, either, but all the same, he just kept walking like he took no notice of it. I suppose they must be used to it around these parts.

Well, for all their oddities, they're good people. All of them seem to speak respectable English, miraculously, and even if they babble in the local East-European dialect, they can usually make known, by way of gestures and faces, what they are trying to say. I've become pretty good at deciphering this sort of charade since the bigwigs sent me out here about a month ago. I still haven't to foggiest idea of what to get them for their blinking article…

The job sounds simple enough: find some heartwarming holiday tale, out in the middle of nowhere. That always sells copies. For example, charities in Hungary for the poor was our holiday-article last year, and people ate it up. But out here, there seems to be nothing but snow and shadow. At least Gordenstadt is a rather picturesque place this time of year. The snow covers everything in thick blankets, forming perfect white mantles over the pointed roofs and square towers of the town. Everything is wood and brick here; there is almost no metal, except for some of the roofs, and the mailboxes. The place is modern in terms of things like electricity, Internet, running water, heating and cooling; all this is just as you'd find in London, but the architecture here has remained the same for years untold now. Walking down the cobblestone and wood-planking streets, one would be under the impression they stood in a quaint Victorian village, and in some places tradition dominates to the degree that people eschew heating-vents entirely in favor of a fireplace full of logs.

… But for all intents and purposes, nothing worth writing about happens here. There is a local business that mines various precious stones from caverns beneath the woods North of the city—this constitutes most of Gordenstadt's income—but it is the only thing worth noting, and even they have nothing in particular to write a holiday article over.

The bell is tolling upstairs. The hostess is calling the guests to dinner; I suppose I ought to go eat. Must conclude for now.

* * *

Dec. 4

About seven o clock as I write this; even so, however, it's only habit that permits me to make an entry tonight. Dreadfully tired, and still chilled from the wind. I had a walk about town today, keeping with me my ballpoint and notes in my breast pocket in case I should see anything interesting. The aforementioned jewel-mine, and the business that owned it and sold the stones internationally, are both on the opposite end of town from the inn. Since I figured this would be as good a place as any to start, I got out my hiking boots, my insulated coveralls, and a brown corduroy coat—supplemented by a gray scarf and a double-layering of socks!—and headed out the door.

The townsfolk think I'm daft, I'm sure, due to my clothes. But the sad fact is, I just don't have that same resistance to the biting cold, the likes of which seems to extend even to children here. A few young boys were out in their denim jeans and striped T-shirts (long-sleeved, at least), and playing ball as merrily as though it had been the dog days of Summer! I suppose it's a tolerance that comes to those who live here. At about noon, I stopped at a general store for some drink and a hot meal. As I counted out the bills, the kindly old lady brought me a plate of roast chicken, along with the purple bottle of plum brandy I'd eyed from behind the glass it had been shown in. The meal did me good, as even the short walk I'd had before then had drained me noticeably. I once again felt warm and energized, and so I thanked her in English and, paying my tab, left the store.

After passing many old buildings of which I stopped and took photos of with my cell-phone—Martha will love these when I get home—I finally arrived at the mine business about an hour later. I hate to keep calling it that, but the fact of the matter is that I can't even begin to pronounce its ungodly native name. At any rate, the building was massive and rectangular, rather like an old warehouse, and every inch of it made of mortar and brick. I guessed that it had been rosy red when new, but age and harsh weather had long since faded it to a pale rust color; the mortar no longer stone-gray, but a pallid off-white. In a box-shaped garage—with concrete walls and a sloped tin roof—adjoined to the side of the building, the distant but resonant sound of clanking and revving engines tells me that there are probably numerous large trucks, whose duty is no-doubt to deliver enormous wooden crates of freshly-unearthed gems to the local airport, where they are, presumably, wrapped and stamped with the company's seal and a fragile marking, and then shipped off to jewelers worldwide who would gladly pay very handsome sums for such quality merchandise. Indeed, I could make out the road leading from the garage parking lot that led into the nearby woods.

I knocked twice on the large, stately looking double doors and, after waiting barely a minute, was received by a portly gentlemen and, once he had seen my card and heard my request to speak with the manager or owner. He stared thoughtfully for a moment, breaking down and interpreting my English, and then, finally, his face lit up and he smiled as he gestured and began making his way down a wood-paneled corridor to the left.

There were no lights in the hallway, and I found, with astonishment, he gingerly lifted a small candelabrum off the wall and carried it in his hand like a lantern. How strange that even with the advent of the modern age, some people still cling to the past!

Finally, I could make out the 'light at the end of the tunnel', as they say, and we came upon a plain wooden door with a peculiarly shaped brass knob that was square instead of round; a gas lamp was lit next to it, to provide light and what looked like a fur rug lay on the threshold. He made a knocking motion towards the door, smiled, and left me there to get back to his rounds.

I must admit, I was rather nervous. I knocked timidly and waited…

… Presently, there was the sound of clinking chains and several large bolts being drawn back; I heard the opening of latches and the turning of a key in a lock. Then, slowly and gingerly, the door strained open with a loud, dissonant creak…

I found myself facing a rather weather-beaten old man. He was simple in dress: white button-up with brown suit-pants and matching suspenders. He wore black boots—the traditional buckle-style—and had a brown bowtie. His hair, brushed neatly over the back of his wizened head and tied into a small ducktail, was a striking silver with age, and he was clean shaven save for a single patch of hair just below his lower lip and above his chin; what the Americans sometimes call the 'soul patch.'

When he turned his milky-blue eyes onto me, something of a grin came over his wrinkled face and he said: "I take it you're an Englishman?"

I've no clue how he knew. But it somewhat alarmed me that I was so easily identifiable. Nonetheless, I hastily introduced myself and gave the old gentleman my card; I said, in few words, that I had come to inquire if his company had any dealings with local charities and whatnot. After a bit of thought, he invited me into his office and I, thinking to be polite, accepted.

I was seated in a green armchair, overstuffed and far too broad for me but nonetheless comfortable for it, and he sat down on the simple wooden stool behind his desk. The room was cozy, with a few mounted trophies like great striped fish, moose heads, polished old rifles and the like hanging on the walls, along with various scenic portraits—most of which either depicted night-woods scenes, or winter snowbanks.

"Charities, you say?" He said, in excellent English. "… Hmm… well, my friend, I don't rightly know. I'd have to check the record books; I just run this building and keep the workmen in line."

"Then, you don't handle the finances?" I asked politely.

"No-Sir, 'fraid I don't." The old man sighed. "You'd have to ask the boss."

I stared at the lavish office room and looked at him with confusion. I chuckled, almost with scorn: "Then… you aren't the boss?"

He seemed nearly mortified. "Oh Heavens, No Sir; the owner is the boss. He keeps the ledgers; he owns this building and all mining equipment, he has the deed to the mine itself, and he himself founded the business."

I blinked. "A busy man, sounds to me. May I inquire who he is, and where I might find him?"

At this, the old boy couldn't repress a chuckle. "You really have no clue of the man, do you?" I asked what he meant by this. "If you really want to know, you need only to ask anyone about town."

"Is he some sort of local celebrity?"

"Celebrity indeed! Man, he's The Mayor!"

At this I stared incredulously. "Of Gordenstadt? Really? Well then. I must make an appointment."

The old man's smile faded somewhat, though it still remained on his face. "Stranger, I'm really not sure if you ought to do that…" Again, I asked (as politely as I could, for I was growing rather frustrated) for an explanation. "… You probably think me mad, but the fact of the matter is, I wouldn't bother the man. Aside from being The Mayor, and thus, very busy, he's also… a very secretive man."

"You think he has something to hide?" I asked innocently, genuinely curious by this point.

"Of course. Not that it's anything bad, mind you; The Mayor's an honorable man, and it's thanks to him this town is what it is! He came here several years ago, and soon afterwards started this company after he stumbled upon the entrance to the caverns—now the mines—out in the forest. And seemingly overnight, Gordenstadt boomed." The old man's chest swelled with pride.

I was silent for a moment. Then, "… You keep saying The Mayor…" I observed, "but what is the man's name?"

… He said nothing. He shifted uncomfortably on his stool and shook his head almost apologetically.

I nearly laughed aloud. "You don't know?"

"Don't laugh." He said, suddenly deathly serious. "… You'd be hard pressed, Sir, to find someone who does."

"And why is that? You make it sound as though the man's a local hero!"

"More than hero. We owe him our very livelihood. But as I said, he is very secretive man… very quiet, very solitary. Good man, kind man, yes… but mysterious."

Mysterious, indeed! I intend to get to the bottom of this; I may have article material yet. Signing out for tonight.

* * *

Dec. 5

It is nearly one in the morning. I have had such a day, as one wouldn't believe if they hadn't seen it with their own eyes! I'll tell everything right out, just as it happened.

At about ten this morning, after getting dressed (and this time grabbing a fedora out of my suitcase to keep my scalp from freezing), I set out of the Hotel and began to amble around town, going nowhere in particular, but simply asking around regarding this shadowy Mayor of ours. Most of the townsfolk seem to hold a bizarre combination of fear and reverence for the man! Whenever I mentioned the word Mayor, they immediately looked both nervous, and also deeply respectful. Here are the facts, such as they are, as well as I could get them.

According to various accounts, he arrived hear about six or seven years ago, late in a misty October night. A reverend—who was just securing the padlock on the doors to his chapel near the outskirts of Gordenstadt—saw, to his amazement, a figure stumbling down the road with an enormous bundle or parcel in his hands, draped across his palms and arms as though one might carry a long sack. His appearance, I do not know, but nearly every telling I heard today described him (vaguely) as 'haggard', 'distraught', 'dark', and 'strange'. He was clearly a foreigner, and spoke English. The reverend, a Good Samaritan apparently, saw that he was clearly in anguish and rushed to help him.

According to all these tales (which, though tinier details vary, were remarkably identical in premise), the rev. helped him with his burden, only to find a girl—a living, breathing girl—in the white silk wrappings. A note: most of the villagers I inquired to, when mentioning this girl, crossed themselves and got very dire looks, different from the smiles prompted by the soon-to-be-Mayor. At any rate, this girl—who was also described, vaguely, as strange looking—seemed to have been in some sort of dire straits, clearly very ill and perhaps even hurt.

What came next… well, so the tale goes: the young man, in tears, collapsed onto his knees and begged for asylum in English. He produced an enormous amount of the local currency and offered to pay something, anything for a bed, some food, and—most of all, they say—help for the girl.

The rev., a little unnerved by their strange appearances, but touched nonetheless, gave all of this and more to them, free of any charge. And so, the boy and girl—both apparently in their late teens or perhaps early twenties—became new residents of the town, and soon afterwards he, just as the official at the company had claimed, hit upon the idea for a jewel business after coming across the cave (now the mine) where the precious rocks were naturally hidden. This soon produced a fortune, not only for him and his companion, but also for the entire city. The awed and cheering populace demanded he take on the title of Mayor, despite his young age, and he (reluctantly) accepted. The rest, they claim, is history.

This all probably seems rushed and general, but it is all I know, and at any rate it captures the essence of what happened. After having gathered all this information—which took a couple hours, I can tell you—I began inquiring also as to where this near-legendary figure lived.

… People were a bit more hesitant to reveal this information. Some didn't know, some pretended not to know (I'm no actor, but I can usually spot a lie), until finally, one workingman who was stocking shelves at a local grocery finally confessed, in slightly-fractured English: "North of town, past (he here uttered the near-unpronounceable name of the gem business). Outside of wood. Cannot miss."

And so, feeling quite triumphant, I found myself about an hour later, dressed warmly and cranking up the ignition in the rental car my employers had so graciously provided, intent on following the directions I'd been given. After Waiting several minutes for the engine to run sufficiently for the heating to work (and thus melting the ice that had permeated the windshield and windows), I switched the vehicle into gear and drove, ready with my pen, my notes, my briefcase, a map, and a compass...

Whilst I drove, watching the ancient skyline of the city growing tinier in my rear-view mirror, I began to wonder how I was going to find this place. After all, I hadn't bothered to ask what the Mayor's residence even looked like, or its exact position… though somehow; I felt that I'd know it when I saw it.

… In retrospect, I couldn't have been more right.

Night was just beginning to fall, the sun dipping behind cinderblock-gray clouds; snow was once again beginning to fall, to replace that which had melted during the day. It was that time at which the day and the night mingled, where it was dim and misty, and yet, not as black as night; with just enough glow to see by. And see by it I did.

It was enormous. At first, I thought the road was winding by the ruins of some old East-European fortress or some long-dilapidated castle. But as I drew nearer and saw the steeples, of ebon planks and azure shingles, the silver windowpanes and stained-glass windows of purples, blacks, blues, and greens… as I saw the looming façade, with its enormous double-doors, of ashen-colored wood, with enormous stone knockers made to resemble serpent heads with forked tongues… as I drove ever closer, and I saw, with wonder, the steel gargoyles with horns and beaks and claws and wings, spouting off blackened water like fountains, into tin gutters which drained into the moat around the house—like a slender obsidian river, but with a concrete bridge leading to the front door, and finally, the enormous tower near the back of the house, between two of the steeples and projecting from the main structure, and realized it was a windmill with broad, black canvas, turning slowly and fluidly in the snow…

… I wondered to myself just what I had gotten into.

I drove to the bridge and, summoning up all my fortitude, got out of the car with my briefcase. There were enormous wrought-iron gates, painted white, barring the way, but just as I prepared to get back in my car and leave… a strong gust chilled me through my coat, and I heard them creak open, as though in invitation. Now, I'm no coward, but I was damn afraid. Still, I'd come this far…

I honestly have no recollection of the minutes between me striding through the gate and me hesitantly reaching into the stone serpents, grabbing their hard, forked tongues—for these were the knockers—and announcing my presence.

… The wait seemed an hour, though I'm sure it was only a few minutes.

Again, much like at the boss's office, I heard the sound of clanking chains and unlatching latches, the sounds of bolts drawing back, a key turning, and the tinny clink of a turning knob. Did everyone in this country keep their doors locked?

As the door creaked open with an ungodly wail, I stared inside, and found myself perspiring.

… I was looking upon a remarkable figure…

Thin. That was my first thought. In fact, his entire form seemed almost emaciated, though wirily muscular. His entire body clad in a jet-black coat, buttoned in the front (across the gut in a rectangular formation) by round brass buttons, polished to the point of glinting in candlelight. His pants where black and matching, and slender down to the bottoms where they flared drastically. He wore black boots, laced down the leg and buckled across the toe with a gold buckle. The sleeves, with similar brass buttons, flared outwards at the end with white lace, pure as snow. The hands that came out sent shivers up my spine… they were broad, with long spindly fingers and nails sharpened to a point. They were extraordinarily tan and ruddy, and a ring shaped like a bat (but made of what looked like emerald) was on his right index finger. This finger, and its fellows, were gripped around the silver skull that topped an ebony walking cane, ending in a fine point that clicked against the wooden floor… the collar of his coat was huge and seemingly Elizabethan, with lace background and rising up behind his head; which, coincidentally, was covered by a tall black-felt tophat with a purple silk band.

… His face was entirely in shadow.

… As I stood there, feeling as though every last ounce of my blood had frozen in my veins, I managed to stammer out in a quivering voice…

"… Mister… Mister Mayor… is it…?"

A long, dreadful pause.

"… Speaking." The answer took me aback. The tone was wispy, melodious, even dulcet, though clearly male. I had been expecting a sullen snarl. He stepped forward into the light…

I started at his face, and knew at once I was speaking to no normal man!

His skin was indeed dark and tan, with an extreme ruddy redness near the cheeks and nose, and even a bit in the forehead. His features were sharp and angular, and highly suggested some sort of Asian descent, though this clashed clearly with our current location. His hair, combed neatly and neither excessively long nor short, was oily black and flowing, but with pronounced silver-gray streaks—the sort one gains overnight from a terrible shock—marking its sides and meeting near the back. His ears were nearly Elven in appearance: long, crooked, and pointed. He had an angular mouth with thin, but very reddish lips, over which I made out the outlines of large, hard, perfectly-white teeth the shade of ivory, which also seemed sharpened like his nails. Over his mismatched eyes—one chocolate-brown and watery, the other sickly-gray and hazy—he wore a polished monocle that glinted heavily in the dim light, with the slender chain going down the side of his head over his ear; specifically, it was over his brown eye. Most striking of all, he was no older than me; he was, perhaps, younger!

What man—or thing in the shape of a man—was this?


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

_(Continuation of Previous Entry…)_

I couldn't believe my eyes. I was staring into a face the likes-of-which I've never seen before, and I have never seen since. The man looked like some sort of eccentric mad monster, the types that live in eerie old mansions in Horror B-Movies. This thought only alarmed me even more when I realized that the huge manor all around me looked like it came right out of the set of an old monster flick by Roger Corman, with Vincent Price in the lead role!

But the young man (?) must have noticed my alarm, for he smiled—a genuine, smooth smile that soothed me somewhat, though I couldn't help but stare at his jagged teeth. He motioned towards me, curling his gnarled (yet smooth, youthfully-skinned) claws in an elegant gesture, waving his arm slowly towards me, letting its laced cuff flicker in the breeze.

"… I don't know who you are, Englishman, but I take it from your briefcase that you're here on some sort of business." His mismatched eyes glinted in the moonlight, and his monocle seemed to shine like a dim lantern. "… Please, do come in, Sir; my home is your home, and the night is dark and chill."

He had a point. The snowfall that had started only minutes earlier was picking up, and my car was locked, so it should be safe… I couldn't help but sigh, and at that very moment my stomach exuded a soft growl; I had not eaten dinner that night, being so busy…

"You haven't eaten." It was not a question; it was a calm, even somewhat concerned observation. "… You're just in time, Sir; I've just finished preparing dinner…"

I suddenly realized my voice had come back to me. "… B-but… I really shouldn't…" At this, he all but cut me off, wagging a dark, clawed finger disapprovingly.

"Tut-tut! I cannot take 'No' for an answer; there's more than enough, anyway. Come, I'll have out the tea and crumpets here shortly…!"

And so, I nodded sheepishly as he turned and motioned for me to follow with a hissing flip of his cape. I walked slowly, hesitantly at first, with small, ginger steps that were silent compared to the heavy, rhythmic thumping of his large black boots on the wooden floors, like a heartbeat inside the big, hollow entryway. But that was until I heard the resounding howl of wolves in the distance, in the woods where the mine was locating; it was like some feral night-mass choir: dissonant and haunting. I picked up the pace and got inside as quickly as possible…

After a long walk through an even longer dark corridor, lit only by brass lanterns mounted on the wooden walls… I blinked and staggered somewhat by an actual light. It was coming from directly ahead. I followed my 'host' a bit farther…

It was a dining room, with a lit fireplace crackling in the far corner, with a few plush purple chairs in front of it. The mantle of the fireplace was covered in various knickknacks such as globes, golden trinkets, a pair of small ebony caskets, some wooden jewelry boxes, rolls of parchment, and a few flickering candles of various lengths and widths. The opposite wall of the room was enormous, with a row of doors that led God-only-knows-where, and an upper level that was the same way, with a spiral staircase and a handrailing. Another staircase, this one not spiral but a simple large curve with an elongated red rug spread down the steps, was next to the fireplace and led far upwards into another level of the manor. On the other side of the fireplace was a wall covered in old shields and weapons from what seemed to be various cultures; a few complete suits of armor, just as diverse, stood guard. Finally, in the very center of this dining room/foyer, I saw an enormous, perfectly round oak table that my host, The Mayor, was seating himself at. It was covered by a thick tablecloth that looked to be made of canvas. It was jet black, with silken red tassels along the edge. At the very center of the table was an enormous candelabrum, polished gold and inlaid with glittering diamonds around the base, with long, flaring candles of various colored waxes…

After I hesitantly seated myself, he looked at me intently and murmured. "I must get the tea things. I'll be back shortly." I had my back turned at the moment, but I nodded all the same as I sat my briefcase on the floor and removed my hat.

… I turned to thank him, for I was grateful if a little unnerved… but he was gone. Vanished, without a trace.

I sighed heavily, wondering just what I'd gotten myself into. Finally, I managed to shake it off and remove my pen and papers from my pocket; I thought it would be good to take some notes on my surroundings.

… The marble handrailings, tinted a dark green with black and blue speckles, were perfectly smooth, but carved to resemble the scaly hide of a serpent—and just as well, for the bits at the end of the staircase reared upwards and formed into chiseled snake maws, just like the door knockers!

This was not the only bit of animal symbolism I saw. The candelabrum at the center of the table was in the shape of a bat, with the candles sprouting from its spread wings, and a pair of large diamonds glittering in place of its sharp eyes… a pair of stone dragons, with four-legged bodies, dinosaur-like heads, and wings… stood on either side of the doorway we'd entered through, like enormous sentinels… and finally, I noticed that the fireplace incorporated cast-iron spikes and grating in such a way as to make it resemble an enormous mouth, with tongues of flame and iron teeth.

I nearly dropped my pen and papers when I suddenly heard the clink of silverware. I looked up from my notes, which I'd been so absorbed in…

… My host was smiling simply at me from the opposite end of the table—the table that was now covered in food!

"Don't be shy, Sir; please, help yourself." He hissed again, in his polite, wispy tones.

What was going on??

He lifted the silver lid—with handles shaped like swan's wings—off a glimmering platter and grabbed an apple.

There was something alarming as he lifted the bright, blood-red fruit up to his crimson lips and licked them eagerly. Then, showcasing his fangs, he crunched half of it off, creating a perfect crescent. He swallowed and smiled. "Fuji apples. ... My favorite."

I ate in silence for a few minutes, amazed at how good and fresh the dinner was. Roast meat, juicy fruits of various kinds, loaves of steaming, moist bread baked into croissants… but just as I was getting full, I reached for a large brown bottle with a cork in the top. It looked like some sort of dark rum, and I could have used something to wash the food down with… but then, I was suddenly stopped…

"You don't want that, Sir." My host said with a wry smile. "It's a special recipe given to me by an old friend. It'd throw you for a loop, and wake you up seven hours later."

I took his word for it, and downed some wine instead. He took a glass of wine as well, but before he drank it, he produced a clear vial from a pocket in his coat. He silently measured out a few droplets of a strange, fizzing tonic inside and dosed the wine with it… moments later, the drink turned blood-red.

"Medicine." He simply said with a shrug. "… My wife and I must take this with our drinks, you see; otherwise, I fear we wouldn't last very long…"

I blinked. "… Wife?"

"Oh yes! I forgot to mention. I'm happily married, you see."

I couldn't help but smile here. "That's good to hear, Sir…" I relaxed somewhat, for despite his eccentricities and fierce appearance, he seemed a good young man. "… So tell me, did she make this…?"

"Oh, no… I prepared the meal myself." He admitted, picking his sharp teeth with a nail. "… You see, my dear is many things, but a cook is not one of them… she's never had much of a talent for that."

Having finished my wine, I ladled some more roast beef onto my plate from a large bowl decorated with carved flowers… and poured some tea into my emptied glass from an ornate ceramic kettle. While I did this, I said:

"I should, Mr. Mayor, tell you the reason for my co—" But I was cut off.

"You really don't need to call me that…" He sighed, almost wearily. But then, perking up a bit, he said: "I forgot to actually introduce myself. Takeshi. My name is Takeshi Nobunaga."

"I was right then!" I blurted out before I could restrain myself. Then, seeing a puzzled gaze from him, I explained, "I thought, from your appearance, that you were of Oriental descent, and your name, Sir, seems to confirm it."

… There was a sudden silence as he sat down his wine and gazed downwards thoughtfully. I was immediately struck with the impression that I had brought up a tender subject; perhaps it would have been better had I not asked. But all the same, he answered quietly after a moment.

"… You are correct. I come from Asia; more specifically, the Japanese islands…" His voice seemed somewhat hollow, more airy than it had been formerly; the difference was subtle, but nonetheless I noticed. "… It was there I grew up, and there I…" He trailed off and cleared his throat with a coarse grunt. "… Well. To be very honest, my memories are vague, and it was so long ago, so very, very, very long ago, that… I would… prefer not to think of it any longer…"

(Note to self: He is but a young man… why, then, does he speak of this as though it happened practically a hundred years ago?)

I cleared my throat and attempted, carefully, to bring the topic back around. "I won't speak on it if it troubles you, Si—" I cut myself off. "… Takeshi." The name was awkward on my Western tongue, but I managed to spit it out nonetheless. As though in response, he looked up and smiled; his already dark and ruddy face seemed practically rosy for a moment.

"At any rate…" I continued, more relaxed. "… I came here because I'm looking for a paper article."

"A paper article…?" He sipped his eerily blood-colored, medicinally treated wine here.

"Yes. You see, I am a reporter; I'm here to—"

"A reporter!" He suddenly sat up ramrod straight, his dark cape fluttering and his tophat nearly falling off. "Wonderful! I've always loved reading the papers… who do you write for?"

I told him, and at once—to my amazement—his face lit up, and his ivory teeth seemed like tiny sabers over his beaming red lips. "Why, of course, of course; you're from London, then! Why, I should have recognized you at once, Mr. Morris; you wrote that truly delightful little article on Hungarian charities and welfare last year."

I stared incredulously. "But it's an English paper! How on Earth did you—"

"You will be surprised…" He said simply, taking a dainty bite out of a rare steak—barely cooked, and almost alarmingly red. "… Surprised at the reading materials my wife accumulates!"

"Your wife is an avid reader, then?" I asked. I was beginning to forget about his surreal, almost monstrous appearance; he seemed a nice enough bloke.

"Avid is an understatement. It's by reading, writing, and sewing she passes her days… we have a television, but we rarely use it." He said with a nod. "Would you care to see her library?"

Driven by sheer curiosity, I agreed.

He stood and led me up the spiral staircase. It seemed to go on forever, with no real lights, so that it felt as though we were ascending into some sort of cavern, becoming progressively darker and more barren the higher we climbed. Even the stairs themselves seemed darker, less polished as we progressed…. We passed through wooden archways covered in cobwebs, and walked climbed over lofty rafters strewn with hay and dust… Finally, in near-total darkness, we reached the top—I had to draw a handkerchief from my pocket and wipe my brow—and he motioned towards a trapdoor in the ceiling—which, as I soon found out, was simply the ground of the second floor. He opened and led me up a rickety set of wooden stairs through the trapdoor…

As I staggered upwards and he shut the trap behind us, I couldn't help but stare, mouth agape.

I was looking at something that would have rivaled the American Congressional Library. The room was enormous, so tall that I couldn't make out the ceiling; only a few copper chandeliers that glittered with ancient gems and glowed by candles, and a few iron lanterns that were chained from the ceiling that cast a dim, flickering glow… the only other lighting was provided by paraffin candles stacked and lined up haphazardly on the many desks and lecterns in the room, all of which were covered in sheets of parchment, ballpoint ink pens, opened books with dog-eared pages, and large, dusty inkwells. These were in the corners of the room, and one near the center as well… the rest of the enormous chamber was lined with row after row of enormous oaken shelves, with a rolling steel ladder allotted to each to reach dusty volumes from the higher—in this case, precariously high—shelves. These were massive shelves, each one crammed with books of any imaginable thickness and height, in all languages (I spotted English, French, Japanese, Spanish, and Latin to name a few) on every subject imaginable, by seemingly any and every author who ever put pen to paper; novels, almanacs, dictionaries, history books, picture books, scrolls, documentaries, comic books, picture books, atlases, rolled-maps, plays, and poetry books, all in a surreal variety of colors, but each with faded titles and yellowed pages… the shelves completely covered three walls of the room, and the fourth was devoted to an enormous stained glass window, the moonlight flowing through which gave the flickering room a ghastly color.

"This…" He said with a casual wave, "Is the library."

I heard a rustling overhead and couldn't help but shudder a bit. It was faint, very faint, and sounded like the rustling of dry leaves combined with the hiss of a night wind… something large moving around?

I couldn't keep my mouth shut; I was started to become unnerved. "… Do you hear that, Sir?"

"Probably just the bats." He said as casually as he would have commented on the weather.

I stared, nearly dropping my briefcase, which I'd brought up with me. "…… Bats?"

"Yes. I suppose you could say we have bats in our belfry. And everywhere else." He said with a light chuckle. "They've never given us any trouble, though; we've always just let them stay."

I wasn't sure what to say here… but before I could say anything, I shut my mouth after a hissing gasp of breath.

There was a gust of cold air—not just air, but a chilled wind, as though someone opened a window in a storm… I shuddered, and even my host looked startled. The air hissed and rattled like a quivering breath, and… At that very moment, each of the flickering lights, lanterns and chandeliers alike, went out overhead. The candles on the desks flared up and burned brighter as though by some unseen force, their small embers sparking and hissing like Roman candles and casting a Hellish glow upon the massive book room…

I literally backed up towards my host, who grabbed my shoulder almost reassuringly. His face was suddenly set, and perhaps a little nervous, but he was not genuinely alarmed as I was…

Then I heard it. A rattling hiss, like a distant, howling wind, but in an exotic voice that was both silken and croaky, both feminine and deep, both soft and imposing, all at once. It was a girl's voice, but almost unnaturally fierce, and about as deep as a womanly voice could go without becoming simply strange. Yet, despite it's gravelly croak, it had a certain youth… still, it made me tremble and gasp to hear it:

"…… _There's_… _a __**stranger**_…… _here_…!" The disembodied call, like the caw of an enormous, but graceful bird, echoed throughout the lofty heights of the room. It's strange, saturnine quality snapped me out of my charmed state and brought me back to the fear I felt when I first walked through the front gates… and yet, the voice was somehow alluring…

My host smiled wryly. "…… Hello, my dear. We have a guest."

… At this point I really did drop my briefcase.

(I am beginning to write a book here, but I promise, the story is worth it, whether anyone believes or not!)

I felt the air moving, and (I am almost ashamed to admit it, in retrospect) I clung tighter to my host; as unnerving as he was, he couldn't be nearly as bad as whatever Hellion was about to descend upon us. But he had called it, 'my dear'… could that possibly have meant…?

Well, it did.

The air spun and spun, visibly because of the thick dust in the room; it was like being swallowed in a miniature tornado, and I tried my best not to cry out in fright as the candles flared viciously and the room hissed and roared hoarsely with the frenzied air.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. I managed to open my eyes, pick up my briefcase with a trembling hand, and stagger away from Mr. Takeshi… the room seemed back to normal, and the lights overhead had lit up once more. Just as I began to ask him what on Earth had just happened, I heard the tapping sound… the sound of small shoes on a large, empty floor…

The sound of heels on wooden beams? Yes.

She came out of the shadows, holding an enormous, leather-bound book with an iron clasp on the front. Sitting it down on a small podium, she began to slowly move closer to us… I say 'she', and yet, at the time I thought more of an 'it'! Although I heard the tapping of shoes, her long flowing skirt gave the impression of a pallid entity gliding across the floor.

"…… Who let you in?" The hiss was sudden and fierce, though not particularly loud. Before I could answer:

"I did, Love. He is no threat to us; he's our guest!" Takeshi said, stepping forward with a broad smile—though it seemed somewhat nervous. They kept their eyes locked for a long period, as though communicating without sound… I took the opportunity to look at the strange girl that had appeared from nowhere, and in such a ghastly fashion.

She was, in many ways, the antithesis of her husband (I had already deduced this was his wife from 'my dear' and 'Love'…) as far as appearance. He was thin, dark, and tall. She was… still somewhat slender, but more healthily round, not nearly as gaunt or skeletal as her husband's frame seemed. But she was far more hideous because of her flesh… not dark or ruddy, it was a horrible pallid color, like a dead woman come back to life! A pale, shadowy grayish-green, sickened and aged looking despite her youthful—in some ways, even attractive—features. Her skin, though, made me shudder; it made her look quite like a corpse… her ears were long and pointed like his, but whereas his were crooked and ended in a fine point, hers seemed to slope and taper at a smooth upwards angle, and ended in a slender (but rounded) nub. Her teeth, when she had opened her mouth to speak to him, were not the fangs he had, but rather… like a mouthful of needles. Thin, dreadfully sharp, and pointed almost straight downwards; they seemed designed as much for puncturing and stabbing as his were for slashing and tearing…

Her flesh seemed that same deathly tone throughout her body; I could tell by her chest—which, to defend my decency, I took but a glance at—above her bust line, where the top of her dress was cut. It was that exact same shade as her face… looking back at her face, I saw a glinting crimson jewel of some sort imbedded in her whitish forehead, almost like an Asian or Middle-Eastern religious symbol…

Her dress was certainly as odd as his suit. Her shoulders and upper-chest were left bare, as though she was unbothered by the drafty house… the only covering was a simple black-lace shawl over her shoulders that scarcely covered the pale skin underneath… the upper bit of her dress seemed to be of soft, pliable leather of some sort; fashioned like a corset with red-silk laces and silver fastenings in back, and small crimson ribbons neatly in an upwards row along the front. The bottom portion was an enormous skirt, down to about her ankles, and seemed to be made of many, many alternating layers of red and black and gray glossy material; some sort of silk, perhaps? At any rate, I managed to make out her ankles—still the same ghoulish pallor, pale and almost sickly green with discoloration—and saw she was wearing shining purple shoes with stiletto-style heels. Her hair was long and reached down to her shoulders; it was a strange, dark azure color; like an odd mixture of blue, purple, and teal… it seemed almost metallic in its sheen…

She pointed at me. "… What does he want…?" She said in a croaking whisper. Her fingernails, painted jet-black and even longer and sharper than her husband's, seemed almost like the hooked talons of an immense night bird… her silvery fingertips were left exposed, as the fingertips of her gloves—that same dark leatherish-material as her dress top, and reaching to her elbows where they ended in red lace—were cut off.

He removed his tophat and smiled, displaying his incisors. "He's here from the paper… he wants to write an article, and I suppose he was looking for something worth-while to write about in these parts. And who better to come to than the mayor?"

I stared at him. It was as though he had read my very mind…

She took a few hesitant steps forward and stood by him. He held out his arm, and she looped hers through his affectionately. Then, she turned and looked at me with her red eyes, like blood-spattered rubies with an inner fire… and yet, they no longer held that hostility; rather, they were almost curious. He gave her a peck on the cheek, and I once again was able to marvel at their contrasting complexions; his dark tan and her anemic-coloration.

"Mr. Morris…" He said, bowing respectfully while she curtsied likewise, the whole time their arms interlocked. "May I introduce my beloved wife: it was for her this library was built."

"Raven. Raven Nobunaga." She said in what I can only describe as a sultry, throaty purr; she smiled at me with her needle teeth and blazing eyes.

"……. Charmed." I managed to squeak.

The next few minutes, for whatever the reason—undue stress and just a bit of mortal terror, I think—are more than a bit fuzzy; therefore, I will go straight to when I found myself back in the enormous foyer/dining-room, where I sat again with still more food and drink, but this time, with two other people.

Raven—odd name as it was, it seemed to suit the young woman (girl?)—ate only a bowl of some sort of porridge, and a glass of tea, which she treated with a strange, reddening tonic just as Takeshi had. Unlike her husband, who seemed to eat with a sort of lust and enthusiasm, she looked at her food with a rather hollow expression and simply pecked at it—though, like him, she consumed the treated tea heartily.

When we finished, Mayor Nobunaga advised me that I would be better served coming back another time. Ghosts, devils, whatever they are… they seem nice enough. I just have to remember to keep this tale to myself.

"You go back to town and get some rest… I will have a think and do my best to come up with something you can write a right good article on, and I'll give you a call when I think of something; don't worry, I know the number of the Inn… you will, however, keep my wife and I out of it, won't you, Mr. Morris?"

I agreed, not only because of the firmness of the question, but because much of it would never believed anyway. I had dinner with two people (?) I am almost certain are not human. I'm never going to doubt a blinking ghost story or alien conspiracy theory again.

And so, I left, and here I sit in my hotel room. And since I am tired beyond belief, and can't think of a suitable conclusion, I'm going to sleep. Will continue after I next meet with this strange mayor.

* * *

_**(The text of the following entry is written shakily, as though with fatigue or agitation, and seemingly in a haste; date missing entirely.)**_

Will have to summarize. Must get back to England first-thing; I'll think of an article when I get there. That is the least of my worries now.

It had been three quiet days with no call from Mayor Nobunaga. I did not tell anyone that their mayor seemed, although a friendly chap, to be more monster than man. I didn't even let on that I'd managed to meet with him.

When I concluded that he was not a normal human being, I had no idea how far short this fell of the truth. I will explain as thoroughly as I can without taking too much time.

It had been three days, as I said, and finally I decided to take the initiative. I took my rental down that same lonely, winding path to the manor; like my first visit, I went late so as to avoid any traffic and also to avoid being seen by curious populace… but unlike my first visit, the gate was open. This was the first sign of suspicion.

I parked, crossed the moat, stepped onto the porch, and as I began to knock, I realized the doors were not shut properly; rather, they were simply pulled-to without fastening together. I should have realized at that very second that something was awry. My first visit, it had been locked up tighter than a prison…

I hesitated for a moment, but then, pushed it open and walked in. At first, nothing seemed out of place compared to last time; the same candelabras, the same walls… but when I came to the enormous dining room/foyer (I dared not turn into any other halls that I hadn't been in; I didn't want to get lost)… I realized something was amiss. Namely, I stumbled right upon it.

… When I got up from the floor, I realized that I'd tripped over what seemed to be a rusty prybar. It was literally bend just below the hook, and I wondered this might be why the door was not shut. I thought vaguely, for just a moment, that they might have locked themselves out on accident. That was until I heard the noise…

A scuffle. The sounds of shouts and rapid speech, though none of it was coherent from the distance I heard it from. Smashing and overturning furniture, the cacophony of thudding feet.

… The ringing crack of a gunshot.

I jumped and stared around wildly, baffled at what was going on. A fight? A gunfight, at that! My first thought was to run back to the car, but… I looked at the crowbar in my hands and realized: there were only two people in this house, both of them fairly young looking: a young man who was thin as a skeleton and a girl that, for all her unnerving complexion, looked almost frail. I gripped the crowbar tightly and took off towards the sounds—namely, down a hall near the fireplace, and down a flight of steps…

I froze and hugged a wall upon reaching the bottom. I heard hushed voices up ahead… sure enough, when I peeked around the corner, I saw a round chamber, filled with ornate vases and statues—a sort of formal antechamber—and near the back, where large double-doors were, a pair of men. Both were tall and heavyset, though that was all I could tell. They wore long leather coats, brown with wooden buttons, and with leather hoods, round black glasses, and red scarves that hid their faces. Each carried an alarmingly large weapon—similar in size to a sword, but more like a spike in design—sheathed at his side… and while the first was carrying a flaring torch, with a noose looped around his arm, the other was popping another clip into some variation of an AK rifle with an ominous, metallic click.

I was terrified—but then again, I was growing more and more used to this state. My mind was reeling with possibilities: Burglars? Political assassins? These two were important figures, after all. But then again, surely card-carrying killers-for-hire would have better, less crude methods than modified AK's and rusty prybars. I was startled out of my reverie when one spoke; I was shocked to hear excellent English—in a thick Cockney accent—come out of his mouth.

"… 'Ere now, did you 'ear that shot? I say we go check it out roight now! Me trigger finger's itchin'…"

His partner spoke in a deep rasp with some sort of thick Slavic accent. "No. Ve stay here. Ve vait for orders. De others can be fending for themselves, da?"

Orders? So they WERE assassins! But the phrase, "the others" worried me. The way they spoke suggested a great number of them… At this moment, there was an enormous rumble from some distant portion of the huge house, and I literally felt it vibrate right through like the thrum of a giant guitar… in fact, the whole room seemed to tremble for a moment, save for the two guards, who simply chortled to themselves.

"… You 'ear that?" The English one crowed. "The lads'll be talkin' about this one for months. We've killed quite a few monsters in our day, but whew… Werewolves, ghosts, demons, zombies… they ain't got nothin' on a Vampire!"

My brain reeled at the mention of all these monsters… I had known they weren't normal people, but this was ridiculous. Nevertheless, I had seen their teeth for myself. But just as I tried to figure out what to do about this situation… a bit of dust fell from the ceiling, which suffered another tremor, and landed on my nose.

I couldn't help it.

"Ah… ah… Ah… AH…. AH…. AHTCHOOO!!"

I heard their boots thud on the floor, and a gasp from the deeper-voiced one. "I heard somezink!"

And with a mortified expression, I realized that the slow, heavy thud of their boots was coming closer to the corner around which I was so precariously hidden. I grasped my metal bar tightly, knowing I had but one chance… I waited, deliberately, torturously, as time passed in slow agony, and I heard the footsteps' deep echoes even over the sound of the blood rushing in my own ears. When I judged the footsteps to be right around my corner, I knew it was now or never; my fight-or-flight-reflex went into effect in-full. I took a deep breath, hefted my prybar, yelled loudly, and jumped from the corner, swinging the improvised cudgel forward with as much strength as I could possibly muster.

_**CLANG**_! A yelp, a loud curse, and the clatter of a gun on marble flooring followed. I swung wildly and blindly, striking the first thug a few times on the ground, then moving on to his partner, who was too stunned to have shot me. But when my bar impacted with his shoulder, he reached up with a throaty snarl and grabbed it. A moment later, I found, to my horror, that it was literally bent in my hand as he gave a tremendous yank. What sort of strength was this?

I paled, finding myself on the end of a rifle barrel.

"Any last vords, interloper?" He growled. "No-vone vill interrupt! Ve haff found de greatest catch of de century!" He suddenly smiled, and I heard the click of the rifle. "_Buh huh huh huh_!" He laughed harshly. "Dasvedanya, Veakling."

I closed my eyes and prepared for my demise as I heard the trigger creak slowly as his finger closed in…

… But the shot never came.

The doors that the grunts had been guarding bust open, and both our gazes flew to it. And as we looked on, I with horror and he with dumbfounded wonder, all Hell seemed to break loose.

A cloud of dark gas erupted forth, knocking me to the ground and causing him to stumble. A Hellish cacophony deafened me as I saw, in the midst of dark gas and strange shadows, small impish creatures shaped like blackbirds, but with long, cruel beaks of brass and numerous glowing red eyes like a Spider. They flapped around, cawing and pecking indiscriminately, and it wasn't long before the big thug found his gun knocked to the ground. Instinctively, I scrambled for it whilst he attempted to fend off the bizarre shadow-birds. But just as I was reaching for it, stretching out as best I could on the flat floor, it began to hiss and crackle, shining obsidian black and arcing with strange energy. It rose up into the air, clicked once, and unleashed a hail of automatic gunfire in the general direction of the thug. I heard the deafening fire, a visceral bursting noise, a thump, and then, silence, as the gun ceased its glow and slammed itself into the floor, breaking to pieces.

The entire room was cloaked in shades now; all the lights had gone out. But just as I looked up, straining my eyes to see through the eerie darkness, a dark blur passed by through the air, like an enormous, saturnine specter. It swooped onto the knocked-out thug I'd thwacked with my prybar. Again, visceral ripping and crunching sounds that caused all the blood to rush out of my face, along with a sort of panting hiss and the spasmic splurt of gushing fluids. I was sickened, and I didn't dare turn to look.

… But as soon as I heard only silence, and everything seemed to be still, I scrambled desperately to my feet and broke into a run towards the door. I had no idea what was going on, but I didn't intend to find out.

Only moments after I'd hit my feet and took off running, I was suddenly aware of what felt like an enormous pair of bird talons gripping my shoulder. I cried out and stumbled, and the vicelike grip threw me to the ground. It was only after I turned my gaze upwards with a wince that I realized who it was. They weren't talons; they were long fingers with sharp nails.

"… You… you're… the mayor's wife…" I said stunned.

She stood there in her dress, but now with a sickening red stain around the edges of her lips. I shuddered as I saw a forked tongue—the sort one would see in a snake—flicker out and wipe the crimson off, leaving only a vague red shade on her otherwise pallid lips.

"You… you brought them here, didn't you!" It wasn't so much a question as a certain accusation. "You… you…" She hissed angrily, eyes flashing crimson, their pupils narrowing to demonic slits. She couldn't seem to find a word bad enough to describe me… suddenly, I was aware of tears flowing unbidden from those Hellish orbs; I was both terrified and saddened at the same time.

"We've already run once! You've already taken away one of our homes! How many more times?" She screeched angrily. "Why can't you just leave us alone? We've never hurt anyone, but you all hate us and want to kill us!"

I suddenly regained my senses. "I… don't… wasn't me…" I could barely speak as her claw like fingers had now clasped my throat. "Tried…. Tried to…" I managed to take a hand away from her cold, iron grip and pointed at the bent prybar.

… She looked and her eyes suddenly reverted back to a paler, glassier red. They lost their fury, though tears continued to trickle down. "… You were trying to what?" She let go of me, and I slumped limply to the ground, coughing and hacking; I labored to get some air into my system.

"I figured they were after you two… I… I thought they were political assassins or something, but… you…" I stared, finally getting a second wind. "You… you… you're a…" I swallowed and groaned. "You're a vampire!"

She scowled, some of her former fury returning. "As though I didn't know it!"

"I hadn't heard from you since I talked to Mr. Nobunaga, and…" I was cut off by a sharp gasp.

Her already pallid face went positively dead, and her eyes widened like pale rubies. "…… No… No! Oh no!" She started stumbling forward..

"What is it?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Takeshi! Takeshi, he--!" She moaned in horror. "They're going to kill him, you hear me? They're after him!"

With a sound like the unfurling of ship's sails, I gasped as a pair of wings appeared from the back of her dress, as though by magic: enormous sable wings with black feathers, like a giant night vulture or crow…

… Or a raven.

As I stared, dumbfounded, she dashed forward and, with a jump, took flight and disappeared in seconds. I didn't know what to do but run after her.

**_TO BE CONTINUED… NEXT UP: FINALE AND EPILOGUE_**


	6. Chapter 6

(Continuation of previous entry; slightly more composed, stable handwriting but faded as though written even more hastily with a well-used fountain pen.

I had no hope of moving as fast as she flew. All I could do was to follow the sound—the awful wails, not even loud, but immensely mournful and anguished. I heard it echo from corridors in front of me and I kept running for what seemed like an hour but I'm fairly sure couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. I didn't know why I was following. Was it because I feared to backtrack and attempt escape lest I encounter more thugs? Did I honestly think I could help the situation in some way? Was I simply, morbidly curious as to how this horror show was going to play out? I do not know. Even sitting here in a room, dressed and in candlelight—everyday features that suddenly seem uncanny in and of themselves after what I've seen—I cannot tell, even with retrospect, why I followed. But something within urged me onward.  
It wasn't long before I reached her… Mrs. Nobunaga, the blood-drinking wife of the monstrous mayor. Yet monstrous as they plainly were, I found their attackers even more so. And they couldn't be all bad; in all honesty, if they were really bloodlusty demons, they'd have drained me dry before now. It was confusing enough that I suddenly had to face the reality of creatures often assigned to nightmares and films; it didn't help matters that I now had to accept that two such beasts were actually fairly kind and civil. I tried not to think about it too much.  
At any rate, I stumbled in panting just in time to see her pulling open a large door within a perfectly circular chamber. The chamber and door were unusual in this house in the fact that they were quite plain. The smooth stone walls, supported with dusty wooden beams framing the ceiling and coming down to the floor at spaced intervals as posts, held no portraits or tapestries; they were bare and unadorned. The door, mostly rectangular but with a semicircular arch at the top, was plain oak with a cast-iron knob. No keyhole. As the door creaked open, a gentle whisper issued forth, not from a human voice, but from the sudden flow of air outwards, thick with dust. It opened fully, and I noticed with a sinking feeling that the light from the simple torches in the circular chamber seemed in no way to illuminate the shadows beyond the door, though there seemed to be a bit of light within, just enough to not be counted pitch-black.  
Raven—I will refer to her by her first name if only because it uses less paper and ink than Mrs. Nobunaga—suddenly seemed relieved, her sunken, reddish eyes half-closing with exhaustion and the release of calmness. She raised her left arm in a smooth arc and beckoned me towards her as she began to enter the room. Seemingly gliding, the frilled hem of her long skirt rustling noiselessly along the floor with no bobbing or tilting usually associated with taking steps, she vanished into the dim shadows within, and I gulped as I began, hesitantly, to follow. As I neared the old doorway, I suddenly realized the unnerving silence I was in. I heard nothing that might indicate the presence of anyone other than myself and the silent monstress ahead of me.

…. An ambush, then? I tried not to think of it.

The room within the door was furnished very strangely, and although it was not as intimidating at the outer façade of the massive house, it was enough to make one shudder slightly at its surrealism. The room comprised of broad rectangular walls on three sides: left, right, and the wall through which I had just entered via the doorway. The far wall was actually a gargantuan semicircle framed with an enormous window, its darkened plate-glass panes criss-crossed by vein-like shafts of wrought iron. Rather than uniform squares or any set patern, these shafts, which seperated individual panes, seemed to spiral inwards in opposite directions, culminating in a tiny iron sphere in the center of the giant window; it looked… remarkably like an enormous translucent cobweb.  
I realized, with a slight sense of wonder, that we must be at the very pinnacle, or close, of the manor—I saw the tip tops of trees, dark and waving morosely in the night wind, in the distance and my car seemed a tiny, misshapen figurine off amidst a sea of gray grasses. It was like looking at a gothic panorama, punctuated perfectly by the full moon casting its glittering pall down on the frigid European landscape outside.  
The other three walls of the room seemed fairly uniform: dark, smooth walls lined with dusty wooden columns, with small, but elaborate tapestries—some marked with an Asian writing I could not begin to decipher—spread at random heights and intervals, and also a few portraits hung neatly in otherwise bare spots, most of them picturing scenes of nature.  
The floor in this isolated upper sanctum had three progressive step-downs in the center; that is, as you walked towards the center of the room, there were square areas in which the floor lowered like a step at a right angle. And so, it formed a sort of progressive cubic pit, draped by a thick red rug with golden tassels at all four ends and a lace outline on all sides. In the very center square, the lowest point in the room, there were for wooden beams, standing like columns, and spread between each beam was a tall, three-pronged candelabra hoisting a trio of dimly burning torches into the air, casting flickering lights upon the center of the chamber, where I saw something baffling.

There, in the center of the room, lay an enormous ebony coffer. It had no engravings, no markings, and was surprisingly plain given the morbid extravagance displayed by the rest of the house. The only adornment of any kind was a simple copper frame covering the edges and bottom surface. I wonder for a moment what they kept in such a strange, large container, and why it was positioned in such a way as to be lifted slightly off the floor at an angle, by means of a subtle slope in the floor underneath. Raven was walking towards it, her wings gone and her hands clasped together at her chest; for the first time since I'd seen her, she seemed suddenly relieved, at peace. She ran a hand over the enormous case's surface almost affectionately, trailing a talon-like fingernail across it and sighting heavily with apparently relief. I brushed my hair back and smiled feebly.  
"I take it nothing was stolen?" I said, thinking to try to make some shred of light out of this bizarre, occult situation.  
She looked at me strangely. Her deep, velvety voice sounded more human than I'd ever heard it as she cocked her head with genuine confusion, saying: "… I don't quite understand what you mean."  
I shrugged my shoulders apologetically. "I… it's just that, you seemed rather happy to find your storage there undisturbed. I thought it must house some sort of valuables."  
She looked at me… and with a smile that was very human, even as she giggled in startlingly silvery, saturnine tones, she replied, "Sir… this is our bedroom."  
And I realized with a half-painful, chilling jolt that the container was plenty large enough to contain a human body.

My mind played out scenes of Count Dracula rising from his bloodstained casket and the evil Lord Orlock from the silent film Nosferatu emerging ram-rod straight and bug-eyed from a dark pit… famous scenes of famous vampires… and at once, I realized what she meant; feeling a little ill, I looked away from the massive ebony cask I now recognized as a sort of sarcophagus. Truth truly was stranger than fiction.

She looked at me, a soft expression on her otherwise coldly beautiful features. "This is where we sleep. I was hoping he'd woken up by now, but… at least he's safe." She ran a hand, fingers writhing slowly like the legs of a pale tarantula, over its sleek surface and sighed softly, a strange, metallic sound. "If anything had happened to him… I… I don't know what…" She trailed off biting her lower lip; I could see the unnerving fangs protrude like needles.

All the same, I pitied her. "Well, he seems to be fine, right? Now we just need to worry about those men."

She looked at me, narrowing her misty eyes. "… 'We'? Why you? You aren't involved in this." She hissed with equal parts bafflement and distrust.

I had to disagree. "Well, I would have to say I am. Vampires or not, you're my friends. You and your husband were very kind to me, and everyone and this town looks up to both of you."

"They wouldn't if they knew—"

I cut her off somewhat hesitantly. "Please, just let me finish. Regardless of that, they look up to you two, especially him. And I…" I hesitated, wondering how to phrase the question. "… well… I take it that, you don't… you don't make a habit of…" An awkward pause. "well, that is, I've not heard of any strange deaths or attacks that—"

"Never!" She shook her head violently, iridescent tresses dancing fluidly in the dim chamber. "We have never harmed anyone! Until tonight, but…" She shuddered. "Do you honestly think we would do that? That we take pleasure in having to—"

"No, that's not what I meant!" I said, half alarmed, half impatient. "So I take it that since you've never harmed anyone, that 'medicine' that Mr. Takeshi used in his drink that night…" I trailed off hesitantly.

She looked down and sighed. "… We have a friend. A doctor, in the US. He makes it. He tells nobody, not even a soul. It's identical to human blood in make-up, but since it's synthetic, well… it had no real medical use since the human body would almost always reject it. Until…" She paused, closing her eyes and grimacing. "Until we were changed."

"… It sustains you." I said softly.

"Yes. It keeps us without having to… to prey on others." She shuddered, and I feared that she was fighting tears, though she kept herself fairly composed. "… I was so scared at first, I thought… I thought we'd have to… hurt people. But no. We've never done anything… why won't they just leave us alone?" She demanded pleadingly, throwing her hands out in a gesture of despair.

I wasn't sure how to answer, but I was spared the necessity of doing so as she turned away from me with a silent shake of her head and placed her hands on the lid of the large sarcophagus. She pushed with what seemed like a fairly light effort and, with a dark, resonant creak, the lid slid fluidly open, sending a plume of dust into the air, dispersing chaotically in the torchlight. In that moment, a peal of thunder rumbled, causing the room to shiver for a brief instant, and a clap of lightning caused me to jump from its loud crack as it illuminated the dark inner confines of the coffin, lighting up the features of something humanoid.

I gulped as Raven removed one of the torches from its holster and placed it instead on the ground next to the sarcophagus, lighting it up.

There he was. Takeshi lay there, still as death. A cold draft issued forth and rustled my clothes; I shivered a bit even as Raven, in her slight dress, seemed unaffected. She trailed a finger delicately across his cheek and knelt, smiling. "… It's strange. I don't regret what happened to us. I only regret that we had to leave our friends because of it." A beat. "We had a home, you know. A few years ago… now we're here. We couldn't stay, not knowing what we were. In fact, we stay in touch only with…" She paused. "… We stay in touch only with the one who supplies us our 'food.' The rest… we thought it was better not to reveal ourselves again. We would only cause them trouble; even he is sworn to secrecy not to speak of us to the others."

I opened my mouth to inquire further, but I was cut off by a distant, yet still audible crashing sound and something like a shout. Someone was coming.

I gasped and turned while Raven hissed fiercely and threw her thin arms protectively over her sleeping husband. She was the first to speak: "They're coming! They're coming to kill him! I won't let them; I'll die first!"

Although I felt fairly certain she could handle one or two armed men based on the slaughter I'd witnessed earlier, I still didn't particularly like the idea of a dozen, maybe more heavily armed thugs barging into the room. I took a deep breath, and asked, "Is there any way to seal the door?"

She looked at me in surprise. "What?"

"The entrance! We can block ourselves in here, and we won't have to fight… or at least, Takeshi will be safe until he wakes up, which should be most anytime now right? Right!"

She thought this over for a minute and motioned to the doors. "Shut it and lock it up. I have an idea."

I ran over and pushed the enormous doors shut, going pale as I heard the footfalls and shouts growing nearer… once the entrance was shut, I proceeded to turn both locks and slide closed every bolt and fasten every chain I saw. Feeling pleased with the security of the entrance, I turned—and gasped.

Raven had gingerly lifted Takeshi out of the ebony cask and wrapped him in the sheet from within. Lying him gently onto the floor, placing his head on a pillow—also taken from within the huge, solid coffin—she took the enormous thing in her hands and began to pull, straining and hissing.

Although it began moving for her, signifying once again that she was much stronger than she looked, she seemed to be having some difficulty as well. The fact that I'm not necessarily helpless myself, along with the purely moral guilt one gets from watching a lady do all the work prompted me to dash over, get on the other end, and help her move it. Within a couple minutes, and plenty of grunting and sweating later, we had gotten it over to the sealed doors and laid it across them on its side…

So we waited, I holding a torch and sitting down while next to me, Raven sat silently, but somewhat uneasily as she rocked slowly back and forth with Takeshi's head on her lap; she ran her fingers through his black, bowl-cut hair tenderly and seemingly unconsciously; she traced the gray streaks on its sides…

Despite the danger of the situation—I was sure that the assailants were already in the area, and were now simply trying to pinpoint us—I could think of nothing else to do but to try to strike up conversation.

"So… if you don't mind me asking, Ma'am, did… did you know him? You know, before you both…" I trailed off.

She didn't look up from Takeshi's face, but responded softly, her voice taking on a tired, dry tone. "… Yes. He is the one who infected me." She whispered.

I stared, stunned. "And you wound up marrying him? I would have thought—"

She cut me off flatly. "I knew him beforehand." Then, with a bit more explanation: "… We were already together. Not married. But I loved him more than life itself, and I wanted to be with him for the rest of our lives…" A beat. "… I never realized the rest of our lives would be… like this. But still, we were happy together…" She turned and looked at me. "… How can I explain the right way…? He's all I have left. My friends, our friends… are scattered God knows where… and now we have only each other. If anything happens to him…" She trailed off.

"…… I think I understand." I was very touched, almost forgetting the presence of the attackers. "… But… how on Earth did all this happen?"

"… I'd rather not say how he was turned." She said simply, looking very tired. "It's a very long story. But he was. I tried to hide it from the others for a time, but finally, it came out… and to make a long story short, we just sort of… adjusted. Everything was otherwise normal, except that he was…" She didn't finish the sentence. A pause here… "… One day I realized… that if I wanted to be with him, then…" She shook her head, as though it still stunned her; her eyes stared hollowly at him. "… I would die. And he wouldn't. I could tell that the thought haunted him, even though he tried not to think about it. So I…" A slight gasp. She was trying, successfully but not without effort, to keep her composure. "… I did all I could. I begged him, I pleaded with him… finally, I made him do it… I made him…" She couldn't finish, and she silently, slowly buried her face in Takeshi's still shoulder as she held him up.

"… You made him bite you…?" I was petrified and touched all at once.

"… I did. And although I'm happy I can now be with him always, I… I'm so sorry that I had to do it the way I did. Please, I'd rather not talk about it too much. But I hurt him… I hurt him and I ask him every day for forgiveness." She let her hand come to rest palm-down on his cheek.

I decided to risk just one further question. "… You keep mentioning friends…"

"People we once lived with. Worked with. Knew…"

I shrugged, blinking. "Why not look them up? I mean… I would presume that they know already what you…?"

"…" A bit of hesitation on her part. "They know. But they haven't seen us in a few years, and they certainly don't know about our troubles with…" A beat of silence. "… with other people." She finished lamely, her shoulders shivering momentarily.

The noise that interrupted our train of thought came abruptly from the entrance. A massive, knocking crash that sounded like something large and breakable overturning outside, and a raspy, unintelligible shout. I turned, going pale, as Raven hissed and hunched over her still-sleeping lover, clutching at him defensively.

I heard just subtle clicking and scratching of firearms just in time to scream, "Get down!" I flung myself to the hard, cold floor with a grunt and rolled reflexively to my left. Raven shrieked half in fury, half with fear and leapt backwards into the air, Takeshi still in her arms and flapped backwards towards the wall. A few moments after we had cleared that very spot, a rain of gunfire tore through the front doors, which remained intact, but were now riddled with little holes. A horrible flashing, like an erratic red strobe light, pierced the dim chamber, and I clapped my hands tightly to my ears and ground my teeth together, trying not to be deafened by the sound. Worse, as I looked, I also saw silvery hatchet blades, seemingly cast from silver and shaped as crescent moons, hacking furiously through the doors.

Time seemed to slow down for a moment as the grand doors came crashing down into splinters, destroyed by blade and bullet; instantly there were men pouring through with murder in their eyes and horrible grins—more human, yet more inhuman than Raven and Takeshi—on their rough, weather worn faces.

Raven roared like a beast, eyes suddenly burning a yellowish red as though with fire and brimstone, and a Hellish orange glow coming from her mouth, spouting phosphorous looking fumes and framing the gleaming, needle shaped fangs within. She rose into the air, dust and shadows swirling about her surreally like a monster from a nightmare; her dun features seemed ghoulishly dead as though a blacklight was being shined onto her.

"Fire! Fire! Aim for the heart!" A burly man with what looked like a sackcloth bandana wrapped about his head shouted. He raised an automatic rifle with a click, the other behind him following suit, while Raven suddenly shot at them through the air, wailing like a banshee and leaving thin trails of burning vapors from her eyes and mouth, both still glowing like the inside of a coal oven.

The next few moments went by almost instantly. Bullets flew in swarms toward her, but she careened through them showing no signs of injury. The bullets were hitting their mark, but those that hit the wings just bounced off harmlessly, and those that hit elsewhere seemed to sink in, leave, for a split second, a reddened sore, and then, suddenly vanish with no exit wound. She seemed impervious to attack

She swooped past them in a straight horizontal line, right through the center of the group, and within moments, three of them fell, their torsos seperated from their legs horrendously. Raven turned sharply at the opposite edge of the room, kicked off of the wall with her legs and landed in a crouch, her talon-like fingernails dripping crimson while her mouth and eyes burned and a serpentine tongue flickered between her razor sharp teeth.

During all this, I was crouched in terror behind the enormous, now overturned sarcophagus. Mercifully, the monster hunting goons seemed to preoccupied with her that they'd forgotten all about me. My eyes turned towards Takeshi lying on the floor at the far end of the room, still seemingly asleep… or dead.

A large cast-iron sphere with a fuse flew from the group, amidst the hail of burning bullets, its end glittering with an open flame. It bounced across the floor, up to where Raven was crouched with her wings folded over herself and her claws over her chest, hissing and screeching at them. The bullets seemed to do nothing.

I shouted a warning, but it was imperceptible over the din of the battle; she did not hear me.

The fuse burned out extraordinarily quickly, and the thing suddenly blew with enough force to topple a nearby concrete column and fling Raven sideways through the air with her body bent at a painful angle, where she slammed against a wall, and slid off like a bird that'd been hit by a car windshield. She lay there jerking violently with smoke fumes rising from the charred feathers on her wings.

"Don't just stand there, get the nets you idiots!"

Instantly, there was a clatter of shuffling stomps as the thugs slowly advanced, many having pulled something from their rucksacks..

"Now!"

Enormous shadowy somethings flew through the air, writhing and twisting, and landed over Raven, draping her like blankets. Immediately, five men rushed forward and pulled tight the slack and a sixth began tying shut the loose end. When they stepped back, I poked my head out just a bit farther.

Raven lay encased in tight netting, like a fly in a web. But instead of breaking free, she lay there quivering, no longer hissing, but moaning in a very human sounding voice. The netting was not of rope, but seemed to be made of some sort of vines, with thorns all over and covered with reddish flowers.

The leader with the bandana stepped forward. He regarded her prone, bound form silently for a moment. Then, as a true hush entered the room—ringing and deafening, even more so than the clatter of before—he reached into his belt, and pulled out a long cigarillo and a match, which he struck off his own belt and lit the thing with, sticking it in his mouth. Then, without snuffing out the match, he tossed it carelessly onto her form. Amazingly, though she'd taken bullets easily 'till now, when the match came into contact with the bare skin of her shoulder, she shrieked and writhed as a sudden plume of smoke rose up.

The leader motioned towards the netting, a half-entertained gleam in his green eyes. "… Wild roses. You have no idea how hard it was to come by them this time of year, you mongrel."

Wild roses…? At first, I was truly puzzled… until I remembered the significance that these objects held in old Vampire mythology—and apparently, reality, as well…

I looked around frantically… this was terrible. Monster, yes. Bad person, no! But what could I do? I hadn't even the means to defend myself. I looked at the pitiful form sobbing beneath her constraints, and back towards the still silent, still form of her loved one. I looked at the leader, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

The boss whistled sharply, as though calling a dog, and outstretched his right arm with hand opened as though to accept something or other. One of the men stepped forward rather hastily, knelt on one knee and held up, almost ceremonially, one of the enormous spike-shaped swords. Its blade was thick, silver, and carved into a fine point at the tip. It wasn't made for cutting; it seemed more for bludgeoning and…

… and piercing. I recalled the earlier cry of "aim for the heart", stared at the weapon's stake-like design, and recoiled with disgust.

The big man snatched up the weapon, took a step forward, raised the thing high into the air with the moonlight shimmering ominously from its surface. He smiled, revealing a gold tooth as he clenched the cigarillo in his mouth. "I'm going to enjoy watching you squirm under the spike, you little Hellion."

Only a groan in response.

… Then, I saw it. One of the small bombs, like what had been tossed at Raven to stun her. I scrambled forward, without thinking, and snatched it up. Then, with trembling hands, I grabbed a match from a dead thug's lower half, cringing and holding back a choke as I did so, and lit the fuse. I hastily dropped the match, rolled the thing at them, and scrambled back behind my hiding spot.

The boss froze in position, his head slowly turning. He saw the metal sphere rolling almost placidly towards his feet.

Before even I had time to react, there was a deafening boom, just as before, and bodies flew; I could have sworn I saw one guy fly past my face. I waited for a few moments, letting the explosion ring in my ears. Then, I looked out.

At first, I sighed with relief, seeing nothing but a charred spot on the floor, a pile of twisted, burnt bodies, and a cloud of smoke. It was horrible, but it had to be done.

… But then, the smoke cleared and my blood began to run cold as I saw the leader—standing there, still, arms placed in a bracing, defensive position—seemingly unshaken by the blast, clothes burnt and ragged, but his body unharmed, eyes burning with rage, locked into mine, wide with fear.

"You…! YOU! I'll KILL you!" He raised the weapon and took a step towards me…

Suddenly, in a single, smooth, arc, something dark bounced over me and flew through the air, landing right in front of him. Then, with a spring, the form shot up and clashed against the Boss's sword with one of its own—a gleaming, golden katana, richly jeweled around the hilt, with a blade that looked both deadly and beautiful.

… It was Takeshi Nobunaga.

"… You come in my house…" His eyes were unnaturally wide, pupils narrowed to black points, one eye magnified horrendously behind the thick monocle. "… You strike at my guests…" a flash of gold, and a shriek as the man's leathery hand, still clutching the spike sword, rolled across the floor, painting a red trail as it went, "… You hurt my wife!" A gargle as a claw shot up and went, not only into, but THROUGH the man's throat, emerging from behind and clutching into the back of his head like a bat's feet gripping at a hapless insect. "And you insult my very existence! For this, I should grind your bones into powder, but I think this will suffice!" As the man gargled and his eyes rolled back, three more quick flashes of bright gold and the three remaining limbs fell to the ground limply. Then, an unearthly bellow from Takeshi as he ripped the man's very head and neck from the body, letting the torso and leg stumps flop to the ground in a pool of red; he slung his hand viciously in a hooking motion, sending the head into the air, then, as it came down, struck with his sword one last time, exploding the entire cranium like a ripe melon.

… A long silence… I peered, wide eyed, from my hidey-hole, trying rather numbly to decide whether or not I'd just wet myself.

Then, dropping the gleaming katana with a clatter, he stumbled clumsily over to Raven, who laid still beneath the net. He grabbed at it, panicked—but he recoiled with a snarl as though pained by the touch of the flowers and thorns.

Suddenly, my senses kicked back in and I dashed forward, trying not to trip over any… remaining detritus… and knelt over here, tearing the stuff off myself. The little thorns stung, but other than that, I was not harmed. He stared at me as I did.

As I finally yanked the stuff off and tossed it over my shoulder, he fell to his knees and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Raven…? Raven! Please… please, answer me…" Nothing. "… Raven!" His voice was hoarse. "… No…"

I could only stare.

But then, she stirred and looked up at him with very human eyes, no longer burning. "… Gh… ghost… ghost…"… a pause… "Takeshi…"

He took her into his arms, his wings folding down and interlocking with hers, charcoal bat scales on glossy raven's feathers.

"Oh, thank heavens… thank everything, I thought…" He choked and swallowed back a lump in his throat mid-sentence. "I thought you were gone…" He looked up at me. "… Can you ever forgive me? I didn't know this would happen… I didn't mean to drag you into this… I……" He trailed off silently. I just nodded.

After a moment watching them sit still in each others' embrace, I asked: "What will you do now?"

They locked eyes for a moment, then he looked at me as she rested her head again on his chest. He replied, "We will leave this place. It's no longer safe for us here. We've put it off long enough; we must go to the others, to our friends." Just a hint of a smile here… "… To our family, I suppose you could say." Suddenly, he looked grim. "… But what of you? What will you tell everyone? About… about this? About us?"

"As though they'd believe me." I said honestly. "I think… I think, Sir… I'll just keep this to myself."

And as I watched them soar off into the moonlight that night as I walked to my car, I knew… I knew this was something that would be with me, but me only, forever. I will hide these papers away where no one will ever find them. Good bye.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own, any part of Teen Titans.

Cold Times In The Hot Springs—Part One

"Well, what do you think? Ringing any bells thus far?" Robin asked in half jesting, half weary sort of voice.

Ghost's angular eyes darted smoothly, but rapidly at all angles, taking in the immediate surroundings, the small, somewhat rustic lounge they stood in. "Um…. Well, not really. Sh-should it have…?"

Robin smirked just slightly. "I was only joking. And you know, if we're going to be here, we might as well try to enjoy it. You look a little nervous."

"Nervous?" Smoke scoffed from behind them as he entered a narrow, bamboo-framed door with an armful of suitcases of all colors. "He looks like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs." His boots clicked like clockwork in a marching tempo as he stepped onto the smooth stone floor below.

"Well, I just don't know if all this is a good idea. I really think it's a bit ill-advised, you know? I mean, what with the heat, and the water, and the, the... well…" He shook his head and adjusted his monocle. "I just don't know that it's such a smart thing."

Smoke sat the suitcases down with a clatter, and wiped his brow with a broad arm motion. "Well, don't much matter if it's a good idea or a bad one. They wanted to do it; I reckon we'll do it, then." He named no names, but all three knew who 'they' were.

"Raven wanted nothing to do with it." Ghost said evenly, but somewhat sullenly.

Smoke only eyed him sharply with a frown. "Sub-Zero wanted nothing to do with it, but that ain't what Jinx wanted to hear, so he's fine and dandy. I still think this is all a crock, myself, but you won't hear that outta my mouth. Blackfire'd hurt me."

"Starfire and Blackfire wanted to come, all right? And Jinx and Cyborg thought it might be a fun idea, as well." Robin said simply. "And I don't see what's so terrible about it; we're only going to be out one day."

"Have you honestly thought this through?" Smoke chuckled raspily. "I mean, Sub-Zero, for starters. Here we got a fella that takes cold showers, drinks his coffee refrigerated, and has been known to faint on Summer days. This can't be good for his health. Now, I'm not tryin' to veto this here vacation ;I'm just saying we're gone have to do something about—"

Thump! "Ow! Hell's Bells…" Sub-Zero had just entered, or attempted to, but had hit his head on the doorframe.

Robin looked at Smoke and sighed quietly, "Speak of the devil, eh?"

"Who designed this building, a dwarf?" Zero grumpled huskily, rubbing his forehead and glaring somewhat uncharacteristically from a scarred eye. "And don't they have air conditioning around here? It's a might warm…"

Ghost turned and smiled somewhat sheepishly while he was sorting out the baggage from earlier. "You'd better get used to it, I'm afraid. It's only normal this place would be warm, considering what it's built on; besides, it's not all that bad." A pause. "… Are you going to be ok? You look a little red in the face."

Sub-Zero looked at the other three and sat down on a wooden bench just inside the door. He took a long swig of the bottle in his hand and said calmly, "I'll be fine. Are the others already up?"

"Should be." Robin said. "We're the last ones in, so far as I know."

"Splendid." Zero sighed dryly, massaging his temples with his gloved hands. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but…" He glanced around furtively to make certain there was no staff present, "… the sooner we get here, the sooner we can leave. I've not been here an hour and already I'd sooner see the back of it m'self."

"Oh come on, Zero, where's your sense of adventure?" Smoke guffawed, clapping the knight on the back, resulting in a hollow thump. "I ain't really looking forward to this myself, but it can't be all bad, right Pal?" Seeing Zero continue to stare glumly into his bottle of drink, he knelt and whispered, with one hand up to the opposite side of his mouth rather confidentially, "And besides, I think I got an idea of what'll cheer you up soon enough…!"

Zero turned his neck and stared at him quizzically, not quite catching his proverbial drift.

Smoke smirked. "Oh, you'll see… Old Smoke's got everything worked out just fine. It'll be a little surprise for later."

"What are you saying, exactly…?" Said Robin in a low voice. He had not really been paying attention as he'd been making sure all the contents of his luggage was intact; he had, besides, been just out of earshot.

"Oh, just trying to cheer Zero up a bit." Smoke responded in a deliberately vague manner, still with an almost Cheshire-cat like grin stretched across his normally hard face.

Robin kept a somewhat skeptical look, but said nothing else.

"You know, it's almost funny looking to see you without a mask on." Smoke said after a moment of silence.

Robin turned to him, indeed, with bare eyes: storm-gray with a slight, slight blue tint; they were pale and somewhat misty. He had, also, abandoned his uniform in favor of a long, tropical-flower printed button-up splotched with reds and oranges, with a pair of baggy brown wind pants and plain leather sandals. He scowled a bit. "It's no stranger than you walking around in that." He said huffily, pointing to Smoke's current ensemble.

The construct smiled sheepishly and chuckled, glancing down at the faded blue-jeans, snakeskin cowboy boots, and the white t-shirt he was wearing, the sleeves of which he'd torn off in a huff after getting one caught on a corner one day. The result was a pseudo-muscle-shirt garment with a v-neck. A long gold chain with a crosshair on the end—a present from Blackfire—dangled from his neck. "Oh, come on now… I know I'm no movie star or nothing, but at least I…" He paused for relish here a moment, glancing at Ghost and Sub-Zero "… had the sense to dress for warmth."

Ghost shuffled awkwardly in his gray hoodie and black leather pants that were probably two sizes too big, but held on by a thin belt. His feet shuffled doubly in the black sneakers that seemed slightly too big for his them, as well. "I, well… I'm… quite comfortable, really; I'll be fine, I…. I'm more worried about Zero, to be honest, as he's—"

"I'm fine." Zero said flatly. He wore a white dress shirt made of silk with a matching powder blue bow tie. He wore a corduroy sport coat of the same color and loose linen pants, again, of a pale powder blue; he tapped his foot impatiently in a navy-blue square-toed dress shoe. White felt carriage gloves completed his outfit.

"Yeah, you look fine, Buddy Boy. Especially in that adorable little hair thing." Smoke snorted, having to struggly to contain his throaty laughter.

Sub-Zero growled deep in his throat and huffed, tossing his head to the side and swishing the big red cloth bow he wore over his ponytail in the fashion of 17th century men in powdered wigs. "Jinx likes this bow. That's all that matters to me."

"Well that's lucky. Because it looks a might feminine for a big guy like you. Or Hell, for a little guy like him." He said, pointing to Ghost, who promptly looked away as though not wanting to get involved at all.

"That's enough, Smoke." Robin sighed in the manner of a grown man breaking up squabbling children. "We're here to enjoy ourselves, not poke fun at each other."

"Oh, it's all in fun, I promise." Smoke said. Reaching over and putting an arm around Ghost's shoulders and the other around Sub-Zero's and pulling them to either side of him. "Right, fellas? All the same…" He abruptly shoved them back away. "… I reckon we ought to find the broad in charge of this place so we can get on up to our rooms and start…" A beat. "… Relaxing."

"Oh good. I see the other guests are here."

All four of them turned in unison, Sub-Zero choking on his drink and Ghost nearly jumping out of his skin.

On the opposite side of the hall from the entrance, a papery-looking, almost parchment like area—which Sub-Zero and Smoke had taken for just another segment of the wall, but Robin and Ghost had known was a door of sorts—slid open. Inside was a room with pale green mats covering the floor like tiles, what looked like a small fireplace with a mantle on one side, and a bedroll with a pillow on the other. In the doorway itself stood a small, elderly woman with a glowing smile and an elegance that belied her tiny stature. Her iron gray hair done up in a bun with two thick, wooden needles—almost like chopsticks—crossed through it. She shuffled out into the lobby on a cane, her violet robes rustling softly. She got to the desk, flicked open a small notebook, and, removing a pen from a drawer, began to scribble something down within. "Why, you young boys must be with the others that came in just earlier, yes?"

They all looked at one another somewhat unsurely, as Sub-Zero stood to full height and slid his bottle, after capping it, into his pocket. Ghost stepped subtly behind Smoke, who shifted awkwardly. Finally, Robin took a small step forward and nodded deeply. "Right, yes ma'am… we're with the same party that phoned yesterday…? The rest are already here."

"Oh, well of course!" Crooned the old lady, still writing furiously and gazing at them with thin, almost shut-eyes. There was a beat in which there was only the scribbling sound of a pen on yellowed paper. After a moment, she sat it down, reached into the same drawer again, and sat something down on the desktop with a metallic clatter.

"There now. Here are four keys… I gave one to each of your friends, and the rooms—" she pointed left with a grand sweep of her hand, letting the arm of her robe unfold, down a dim corridor with wood-panel walls. "—are just that way. Each key is identical and will work with any lock, but please be careful not to lose them all the same. I let your friends divide the rooms as they saw fit." She lowered her arm and pointed again in the opposite direction. "… The onsen themselves are that way, at the end of the hall, ladies on the left, gentleman on the right. Just before them are two doors, one to the living room, and the other to the workout room. My office—" She pointed demurely behind herself to the small room from which she'd just emerged, "—is just there, and bathrooms, as I'm sure you noticed, were on either side of the entrance." She bowed deeply, at an angle that was a bit impressive for a woman her age. "Please enjoy your stay."

Robin and Zero looked at each other and shrugged. They halved the luggage between themselves and each took a key as they began towards the rooms. Smoke snickered softly at Ghost and gave him a bit of a tug combined with a jerk of his head, as if to say "Come on." Ghost nodded and set off behind them, bringing up the rear.

* * *

"That's it, then. I'm going to have to kill myself." Raven said dully, staring with a frazzled expression at the papyrus-thin waste cloth towels hanging on the wall of the room. They probably reached from chest level to just above the knees, at best, and each was pink with a floral pattern along the white end-linings.

Jinx, the room's sole other occupant, snorted as she tossed various garments over her shoulder into the opened dresser drawer behind her from a large bag. "Just don't let Starfire hear that; you'll get her upset." She turned and grinned, her catty eyes glimmering. "Even if you are joking."

"I don't know how you talked me into this. I mean, look at this! I may as well be traipsing out there wearing a pretzel." Raven hissed with a frown.

"Well, if it's that degrading, you don't HAVE to wear it." Jinx teased with a somewhat wicked smile.

Raven's left eyebrow jerked twice in rapid succession and she went back to hanging her cloak on the coat-hook on the door. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

There were a few moments of a quiet, followed by another attempt on Jinx's part to cheer Raven up.

"Oh come on, it's not as though there are going to be paying spectators. And it'll be good for you, I promise." She insisted, holding up her forefinger sagely. "These things have all sorts of minerals that'll help with your skin."

Raven glared. "I've never had much of a problem with mine, personally." A beat. "I don't see why we couldn't have just invested in a Jacuzzi if you and Blackfire had your hearts so set on this sort of thing."

"Because, it's not just the water that's the important part, it's the experience!" Jinx reasoned, setting a few small incense burners on the end table next to the window. "I mean, how many chances to do this does someone get?"

"Mercifully few." Raven muttered quietly to herself. "… At least it will be quiet."

"There, you see?" Jinx said consolingly. "That's at least something to look forward to. But I promise it won't be nearly as bad as you think if you just enjoy it."

"Well, excuse me." Raven said with, for the first time, something of a wry smirk. "I just never saw the appeal in sitting in a tub of scalding hot water, like a duck roasting in a soup, with nothing to cover your shame except what amounts to a soggy dishrag."

"At least you've enough shame to cover." Jinx muttered rather self-consciously to herself. "But then again…" She began, loudly enough this time for Raven to hear, "you really should wear it, if for no other reason than for Ghost to see it. I'm sure it would… leave quite an impression. Not that you don't already."

Even the stoic Raven went a bit pink at this and shook her head silently. As far as she was concerned, the clothes she was wearing under her cloak—a pair of black and gray checkered flannel pants, and a dark blue camisole with ruffles around the bottom, complemented by simple blue clogs—were probably a bit showier than she would have liked, but were at least comfortable. She sniffed rather disapprovingly at Jinx's outfit.

The somewhat more flamboyant witch was, to say the least, out to leave an impression in any occasion. Thusly, she had opted for a black button-up blouse with white-lace cuffs, complemented by a pink-and-black plaid miniskirt and black fishnet stockings, complete with lacy garters. The hot-pink stilettos on her feet clicked slightly as she walked, adding even more height to her already somewhat gangly form.

Raven's cross musings were suddenly interrupted when a soft, almost hesitant knocking echoed on the door. It knocked three times, slowly, and then fell silent. Her wide blue eyes turned, puzzled, to Jinx, who looked equally surprised.

Finally, Raven called out, "… Who is it?"

"… R-Raven? Is that you, Love?" A wispy voice from the opposite side.

Jinx positively glowed with mirth at the use of the word love, and Raven smacked her forehead in a half-embarrassed, half-flattered sort of way. "You can come in, Ghost; we're decent." She glanced at Jinx. "… Well, mostly."

Ghost, without bothering to open the door, slid through the solid surface, true to his namesake, with a sound like hot air hissing slowly out of a balloon. He caught sight of Jinx, smiled sheepishly for a moment, fiddling almost painfully with his thumbs, then turned sharply on his heels and bowed to Raven. "I'm glad to see you. I'm sorry it took me a while; I was with Robin, and Sub-Zero, and Smoke, and well, Robin didn't realize that the hostess was already here, and we were waiting, yes, and so you see… well, Smoke was taunting Sub-Zero a little..." He caught sight of Jinx's scowl. "… Oh, but it was all in good fun, you see, and so really there was nothing to—"

Raven smiled softly and put a forefinger over his lips. "I understand."

Jinx sat on the windowsill—which protruded out and was lined with padding like a bench, with the walls on either side—and put her chin on her hands. "So where'd Sub-Zero go?"

"Ah, yes." Ghost cleared his throat and adjusted his monocle slightly. "I believe he went with Robin to check in on everyone before doing anything else."

"He would be." She sighed. "He's going to burn himself out one day, always on the move like he is." She looked at Raven. "I honestly believe I wouldn't have to brush my own teeth if I told him I didn't want to."

Raven shrugged. "That's what he does. You ought to be thankful. If you two do wind up together—you know… in the long run… I'm sure that will help."

"I guess. I just worry about him that's all." Jinx sighed half-crossly, but with a touch of affection.

Ghost cleared his throat and began, once he saw that they had nothing more to say at the moment. "If I may interject…. Sub-Zero only does what he does because he takes upon himself the responsibilities of his friends' well-being. If there is something he believes he can do to help, within reason, it is only natural to him that he does it."

* * *

"Well, it's a little big, but I guess it'll do just fine." Terra said, whipping one of the sheets on the bed to get a thin layer of dust off. She coughed for a moment, then waved it off and began fixing it in a half-made, half folded back sort of way. "You know, I really think Blackfire and Jinx were onto something here. This may be just what we needed."

"I'm happy if you're happy." Beast Boy said simply, lying on the second bed bouncing a paddle ball rapidly. He was dressed casually, blue jeans and brown sneakers with a green t-shirt with a brown peace sign. A pair of brown leather gloves covered his hands, and a plain black baseball cap adorned his head, though it didn't quite cover the tufts of curly, jungle-green hair that came out from beneath it at points.

She smiled. "The sentiment's appreciated, but I hope you aren't just saying that." But she was either too modest or too naïve to realize that, at the moment, Beast Boy had little reason to complain. She was wearing black slip-ons that covered the toes and upper bit of her foot fully, but left the heel exposed, and her lower legs and ankles, all as tan as her face, were left bare by a pair of brown denim Capri pants. A yellow, backless tank top, kept on by some well placed string ties, covered the modest bits of her chest, but left most of the back and midriff exposed. Instead of her favorite goggles, she'd opted for a simple flower shaped hair broach. Her hair, having not been trimmed in a while, easily rivaled Star and Blackfire's for length, though she kept half of it combed neatly so as to shade a little over a quarter of her face.

"No, really." He yawned, tossing the paddle ball back into and sitting up. "I'm great. A little tired, but great. That was a long car ride…"

Terra shrugged while observing a vase of flowers on the dresser. "I don't know why we didn't just fly. Would have been a lot easier, and it's not as though we don't have the means…"

"You know Cyborg." Beast Boy grinned toothily. "He's going to drive that car every chance he gets."

A sudden knock at the door, twice in rapid succession, the second more forceful than the first.

"It's unlocked." Terra said without looking.

A very slight pause, and the knob turned and the door swung slowly open. Smoke stepped in, arms crossed and a half-defeated smirk on his face

"Well, looks like Blackfire ain't in here, huh?" He asked, stepping over to Beast Boy and high-fiving him carelessly in greeting. "I just took a wild guess."

The blonde shook her head and pointed to the right. "I think she's a couple doors down, with Star. Robin and Sub-Zero have already been in here, so I guess that's probably where Robin, at least, is now."

"All righty, then… In that case…" He stretched a bit, his collarbones crackling audibly before he took a step towards the door. "… That's where I'm headed. I'll see you guys later."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out." Beast Boy snickered playfully.

* * *

"Robin, this is wonderful! I cannot even begin to describe my elation!" Starfire bubbled, positively gleaming with glee. Robin, currently in the midst of a both a bone-bending caress and an uncomfortably close proximity with her bare midriff, could only smile in a somewhat strained way and reply, "Y-yeah… it's great, isn't it? Although, you could lighten up with the hugs a bit…"

Starfire looked startled for a moment, and then smiled sheepishly as someone who recognized that they had just done something a bit dim. She loosened her hold on Robin, hovered back down to the floor, and sat him down.

"I am sorry if I caused you any discomfort, Robin." She cooed. "Only, I am so excited that we have been afforded an opportunity to enjoy ourselves here! Blackfire was most happy, were you not, Sister?"

Blackfire, crouched on the bed with her head on her knees and her back to the pillows—she had been watching the television up until this point—looked over with a grin. "Of course."

"Well, it was a good idea, you had." Robin admitted. "Everyone thinks so." This was a blatant lie, and he knew it, but he didn't want to cause dissention among the proverbial ranks. "Just relax and enjoy yourselves, because you know we have to be back soon. We don't get checks from the government for hanging out at vacation resorts, you know."

"Oh, they'll be fine; The Red Tornado was nice enough to keep watch while we were gone." Blackfire said dismissively, waving her hand.

Starfire bit her lower lip in thought. "I pity him, having to stay in our Tower all alone. Will he not become lonely?"

"He's a robot. He'll be fine, as well." Blackfire said flatly. Her mood abruptly brightened as she smiled toothily. "I'm more excited about having a chance to get out and do something, for a change! Something that doesn't involve fighting crime!" She lowered her voice and spoke mostly to herself as Robin was busy stretching his back where Starfire had rather gratuitously squeezed him: "Something a little more… fun."

"What is more 'fun', Blackfire?" Star asked curiously.

In response, Blackfire hissed "Shh!" and roughly elbowed Star, jerking her thumb towards The Boy Wonder. "I'll tell you later. It'll just be our little secret."

"Right, I'm going to go double-check the lock on the T-Car." Robin said, stepping over to Star. In a rare display of affection, he actually leaned over and gave Star a peck on the cheek, causing her to flush immensely and smile. "Take it easy, Star. And have a good time while we're here." With that, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Star sighed contentedly and rubbed the cheek he had kissed. Then, she turned to her sister and sat down on the bed next to her. "Sister… Are you very sure that these clothes are attractive on Earth?"

Blackfire looked bemusedly at the clothes she'd bought for Star: A pair of purple, wool shorts and a tube top of the same color imitated, along with the tall high-heeled boots she wore, her superhero costume, only in a more casual dress fashion. "It's fine," Blackfire insisted. "Why would I be wearing it if it wasn't?"

Indeed, the older sibling was dressed much the same way except the shorts were black and made of vinyl material instead of purple-dyed wool, and were decorated with thin, silvery chains, and the tube top was black.

"I believe you!" Starfire reassured her hastily. "Only I just… I wish to look… pretty." She blushed slightly. "For Robin."

Blackfire frowned. "Well, he kissed you, didn't he? What more do you want?" A beat. "Actually, don't answer that. Because I know you don't know any better."

Starfire, oblivious, shrugged. "I only wished to confirm that I was satisfactorily dressed… that is all."

A bit later, only a few minutes after Robin had left, another knock at their door...

"Yeah?" Blackfire said simply, starting to doze off.

Without a word, the door opened and Smoke smirked at her, waving a metal hand. "Well howdy, Sugar."

Instantaneously, there was a squeal of delight as Blackfire bolted, through mid-air, and hugged him almost violently around the waist. "SMOKE!"

Smoke stood, rather stunned, and grinned, slightly flushed. He put his hand affectionately on her head. "Yep. It's me." As he attempted to remove it, her hair clung to the metal with a crackle of static. "Whoops!" He yanked it away, causing the hair to fall comically on her face. "Sorry sweetie; I haven't let off any electricity in a while."

She smirked. "Well maybe we ought to fix that…"

"Now, now…" He pointed with a smile. "Not around your Sister."

Rolling her eyes, Blackfire hovered into the air so that she was about a head higher than Smoke, then bent down and kissed him on the lips, hands on his cheeks. At the lip contact, there was a small arch of visible electricity between their noses and a loud popping sound. Blackfire's left leg popped up at the knee rather delightedly and she drew back, swooning. "What a rush!"

Starfire only giggled demurely and looked away, smiling.

Smoke continued nonchalantly. "So, do you think you're gonna enjoy yourself a'ight here?" He asked.

She replied, "Of course! We all are. Well…" She blanched a bit. "I do feel kind of bad about dragging Sub-Zero here. That honestly never occurred to me."

"He'll live." Smoke chuckled flatly. "Just don't tell Jinx I said that."

* * *

"Would you stop fiddling with that thing, you nincompoop, you're gonna break it!" Gizmo snapped from the couch he was sitting on, watching television.

"What? It's like a wee toothpick." Mammoth retorted, continuing to finagle curiously with the bamboo dagger that had been mounted on a rack on the wall. "It's funny looking. What, they actually think this'll hurt somebody?"

"It's probably for practice. Now put it down before we have to pay for it!"

At the opposite end of the room, Cyborg sighed heavily, contemplating: 'Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.'

* * *

MUCH LATER THAT EVENING……

Sub-Zero sat in a large wooden washtub, his knees drawn to his chest, in cold tap water with a block of dry ice, scrubbing his back rather sullenly with a scrub brush, his white skin positively glowing in the dim light and a look of misery on his face, half concealed by a mop of wet hair as he sweated like a pig. "I hate this, I hate this, I hate this so much I derive life force itself from my own hatred…"

"You could always, you know, chill with the rest of us." Smoke said in a half-sneer, taking deliberate relish in the ironic use of the word chill.

"In that liquid Hellfire? I'd sooner pluck my own eyes out." He scowled, brushing soaked tresses from his face, red eyes gleaming. "This is the only way to keep cool in this infernal oven!"

"You know, the steam is meant to be half the point." Robin said from across the room, dozing against a wall in a chair. "Supposed to, I dunno… calm you down and help your skin and stuff."

"Help my skin? It's cooking my skin! I feel like a wolf pup in a kettle!"

"… I do think it opened up my sinuses." Mammoth grunted simply. "Though it's still a bit weird sitting half naked in here like this." He snarled, baring his gleaming canines and shifting his enormous, chiseled bulk awkwardly, causing a noisy splash.

Smoke was reclined on his back in the deeper parts of the spring, floating rather gracefully. "Oh come on. I know those H.I.V.E. locker rooms were bound to have been cramped." He turned with a gleeful grin, hazel eyes piercing. "And besides, you're probably in the best shape of any of us here."

"Speak for yourself." Sub-Zero muttered almost silently to himself, fanning his face frantically with a paper fan he'd scrounged up.

"Well, I don't know what you're complaining about. It's just like a Jacuzzi, only bigger." Beast Boy said, soaking under an artificial waterfall and grinning.

"You have to remember guys… " Robin sighed bemusedly, "… that Sub-Zero's nerves can't take very warm temperatures well."

"Very warm?" Zero repeated, somewhat more calmly but still with a tone of surprise. "Look, it burns to me. It's like boiling water. And this steam is stifling."

"You could always hang with Cyborg and Gizmo…" Robin suggested, sitting up.

"I would…" Sub-Zero mused, "But Jinx begged me to at least try this. So try it, I shall."

"Psht. You'd jump off a damned cliff if she told you to." Smoke laughed.

Mammoth looked over with a shudder. "Wouldn't you?"

* * *

Raven sat submerged in water up to her nose, glaring rather glumly outwards like an alligator, her silence speaking volumes. Most of which said things like, "They're all going to die, I'm going to kill them all, I'm tired, I'm nearly naked, I have water in places no one should have water, they're all going to die."

Jinx, much more relaxed with her hair down and reclined on a natural slope along the wall of the bath, stared rather bemusedly at her. "And what's wrong with you?"

Raven lifted herself just far enough out of the water to speak, revealing a dark flush across her face and a look of flustered embarrassment. "What's wrong with me? Are you serious? I feel naked!"

"Well, for the most part, you are naked." Jinx said coolly, grinning as Raven huffed in response. "The one exception being about an inch of clingy wet cloth."

"I hate you so much." Raven groaned, sinking back down again.

"Oh, come on." Jinx said sultrily. "You just want to be miserable, that's all."

"… It's not so bad, I suppose." Raven sighed wearily. "It's nice and warm and all, but that doesn't change the fact that… that…" She faltered, unsure of herself. Finally, she continued, "… the fact that I feel so awkward."

"You wouldn't feel nearly as awkward if you took that thing o—"

"NO!" Raven yelped with a stubborn splash before Jinx could even finish her sentence.

"Whatever you say."

Jinx was, at this point, the sole other occupant in the large misty chamber. She had, after all, been the one to drag Raven out of their room after much coaxing. She seemed to have loosened up somewhat, but was still, understandably, having issues with her own modesty.

After the flush had faded from her face and she'd caught her breath, she shifted somewhat and tried, in some measure, to get comfortable. After a bit of squirming, she managed to find a reasonably cozy spot and reclined resignedly, though keeping her pale arms crossed firmly over her submerged chest as though to ward off prying eyes.

"One thing I don't understand…" Jinx yawned, taking a quick sip of tea from a cup sitting nearby on dry ground. "Blackfire was so eager to come; it was practically her idea. But I've not seen her in here yet."

"There's no telling with her." Raven said simply, cocking one eyebrow. "She's probably harassing Smoke. That's one of her favorite pastimes."

"No, Smoke's with the rest of the guys; I saw them going in a little while ago."

"Oh…" A subtle, but still visible expression of realization dawned across Raven's face. "That explains it."

Jinx stared. "What explains what?"

"I could have sworn I was picking up startling amounts of hatred somewhere around here, but up until I realized Zero was nearby, I thought it was just me." She said with a wry smile.

* * *

"Where's Ghost anyway?" Zero groaned. "Out of the lot of you, at least he might have been good conversation. Well, Robin not withstanding…" He added, seeing the somewhat struck look from the Boy Wonder.

"Probably got cold feet, the stiff." Mammoth said with a slight chuckle. "You know he was terrified earlier."

"He's always terrified; I think he was born terrified." Smoke clarified with a shrug. "It's never stopped him before." A sudden, sharp inhale. "He's here."

Robin sat up from his lying position and yawned. "What?" He looked around impatiently. "Come off it. He hasn't even come in, yet."

Smoke sniffed several times shallowly and rapidly, as though trying to clear his sinuses. He grinned with recognition and turned to Robin with an air of mock bafflement. "Oh dear, oh dear. Now how on Earth would that rascal have gotten in without using the door?" Without waiting for an answer, he picked up a small, bamboo bathing pail with a washcloth and a brush in it from the dry floor nearby and chucked it, full force, at a small inlet of water surrounded by shrubbery in the corner of the bath.

It flew through the air at high speed until suddenly, it bounced violently in midair, as though it had ricocheted off of a wall, and spilled hot water everywhere. Bizarrely, there was an airy yelp and a spectral, glistening silhouette revealed as the water droplets slid down the air itself in a thin, manlike shape. Soon after, Ghost hissed into visible existence, rubbing his forehead. "You brute, what was that all about!?"

"Oh, sorry there, Pal. You was just so quiet, I had no idea you were there." Smoke snickered.

"Very funny; real rapier wit, you've got there." Ghost muttered darkly.

Beast Boy, along with the others, stared. He was the first one to speak up amongst as to why Ghost had, apparently, snuck in invisible and through the walls. "Why the stealth, Dude?"

Ghost, his tanned, butterscotch-toned skin glimmering with water, shook his head slightly, waving his black, bowl-cut mop to wave. He had left his monocle in the room, as it only would have fogged up uselessly in the bath chamber anyway. He shrugged and stammered softly, "Why, I only didn't want to disturb any of you, that's all…" He insisted, "So, I … I just let myself in."

"Any word from Raven since earlier?" Robin asked the newcomer with a slight laugh. "Last I heard, she wasn't too keen on this whole thing."

"And she always was one of the few of us with sense." Zero added his two cents.

Ignoring him, Robin continued, "I just wonder if she's managed to acclimate herself better than Zero here."

"Acclimate my pale—"

Smoke cut him off. "Oh, well you can't blame Raven. She ain't… what's the word… as brassy as Blackfire, y'know? Ain't got that shake, I guess you could say. It's only normal this might not be her type of thing."

"No, I don't quite understand." Ghost said bluntly, at an utter loss.

"Oh, you know. Blackfire don't give a monkey's about anything, hardly, especially not other parties' opinions of her." A beat. "Ol' Raven, on the other hand, she's not quite as hard as she pretends to be, I don't think. Gets embarrassed very easily."

Ghost nodded thoughtfully. "I'd say you're right about that. Blackfire's certainly the more brazen. But I still don't understand quite what you mean by 'shake'…", he finished curiously.

"Heheheh. You wouldn't." Mammoth laughed flatly.

Smoke screwed up his face in thought for a moment, trying to think of the best way to put it. "Oh, come on now, you know what I mean. Like when a girl walks… you know, that…" He made a few awkard hand motions that spoke volumes. "… That shake!"

Ghost flushed just slightly. "….. Oh. Well, I mean, I've not…. That is I've never paid much attention to…"

"Ignore him, Ghost." Zero huffed, almost indignantly. "Even I can't begin to respond to that."

"Oh, like you fellas are more in charge of your own eyes than any of the rest of us, huh?" Smoke teased. "Well, I can't speak for the two of y'all, but I'd just have to say that there are some things that make a guy's eyes go crazy like a sprayed roach. You can't even control 'em any more, and by the time you realize just what you're looking at, you've done looked at it. So there ain't really no harm in continuing to look." He gazed almost pityingly at Ghost. "I'm no genius, but even I know that Raven's only slightly more comfortable with this whole thing than Sub-Zero here."

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
